


The Dark of Night

by RedheadedDragon



Series: Meliandra [2]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Adultery, Betrayal, Deception, Emotional Manipulation, F/F, F/M, Lost Love, Love Triangles, Sexual Tension, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-12
Updated: 2019-03-08
Packaged: 2019-03-17 08:23:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 25
Words: 39,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13655178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedheadedDragon/pseuds/RedheadedDragon
Summary: Writer's note:The events of this story take place approximately six months after the end of "Amongst the Shadows".





	1. In The Dead of Night

**Author's Note:**

> Writer's note: 
> 
> The events of this story take place approximately six months after the end of "Amongst the Shadows".

The Nord thrust himself into the Breton once more, filling her with his length; he was insatiable with this raven-haired beauty beneath him, but his release was imminent. His strokes became hurried and demanding; he needed to claim this woman as his and only his. Her breasts, so creamy white, jiggled vigorously as his climax approached rapidly. The sounds of her pleasure growing louder pushed him over the edge and with a final thrust, his seed erupted inside of her, the force of his orgasm spasmed through him as he collapsed onto the bed next to her. 

“You know how to steal a man’s heart, darling,” he breathed heavily. 

Meliandra smiled as she sat atop him, straddling him between her legs, her long, black hair draping across her breasts. “It was never my intention to steal your heart.” 

“But you did,” the blond responded. “From the moment I laid eyes on you, you had me.” 

She leaned down and kissed his lips. “I find that I seem to have that affect on people. Which is good, really,” she said sweetly as her hand found its way to the dagger she had secreted away when the Nord had not been paying attention. As his eyes questioned her, she drew the edge of the blade across his neck, spraying the legate’s blood across her. 

“Death to the Empire.”


	2. Black Temptation

He could hear Galmar barking to the soldiers in the training arena as well as the sounds of metal on metal; the stench of sweat heavy in the air as he made his way into the room. He immediately saws his general at the front of a group of new recruits, bellowing what was expected of them as Stormcloaks. “Milk-drinkers will not be tolerated here; we are not a rabble of farmers with pitchforks and shovels! We fight as soldiers against the tyranny of the Empire and we will throw them out of our lands!” Galmar met Ulfric’s eye and finished speaking to the group of soldiers before approaching the jarl. Ulfric began to walk the length of the arena, watching those there train, paying attention to their form, how they handled their chosen weapons, making his way past the group of archers perfecting their aim, some kneeling, some standing. He stopped, looked at Galmar, and spoke.  
“I’ve received communications from the jarls of Dawnstar, Winterhold, and Ivarstead; there has been an increase of Imperial movements throughout their holds, never near capitals, only the outskirts.” 

“Have they been able to send spies out?” 

“None have been successful in crossing lines.” 

Galmar nodded with a frown on his face. “Do you have a proposed course of action?” 

The jarl nodded, knowing exactly how his housecarl was going to react to his words. “I have sent for Meliandra.” 

“That Breton thief who tucked tail and ran from here?!” Galmar asked incredulously. 

“She has been locating people that Susanna connected Mila with,” Ulfric stated evenly, the argument nearly six months old with the man in charge of his army. 

“Of course, she has,” he grumbled, “she’s eliminating everyone that can tie her into the conspiracy.” 

“Enough, Galmar!” he snapped. “I will not tolerate any more of these baseless accusations that Meliandra has anything to do with Mila’s attempt to have me captured and turned over to the Empire.” 

“Baseless, my ass! And you know it, Ulfric. You just refuse to see it because you’re using the wrong head!” 

“Enough!” he bellowed, his deep voice bouncing off the walls. He glared at Galmar, anger blazing in his eyes. “You really want to know why Meliandra was suddenly gone after she killed the Butcher?” His voice came out as an angry whisper as he continued, not allowing Galmar the opportunity to answer. “I saw her before she left, little did I know she was going to leave though. But we were right here, in this arena; I was going to give her a lesson on how she grips her sword.” 

In his mind’s eyes, he could see the events of that day playing back to him, him standing so close to her he could smell the honey mead she had consumed, looking into those amber eyes with their specks of green and losing himself again and kissing her. He remembered how she broke the kiss, a mixture of shock, surprise and guilt on her face as she backed away from him, saying, “No, this is wrong, I can’t,” before rushing out of the arena. 

He looked at Galmar. “She left because I offended her; I overstepped my boundaries and she left.” 

Galmar eyed him, then grumbled. “If you say so.” Clearing his throat, he continued. “You know where the thief scurried off to, then?”  
Ulfric shook his head. “No, I don’t.” 

“So you have a courier running all over Skyrim looking for her?” 

Again, Ulfric shook his head. “No, I sent the courier to Falkreath.” 

“Falkreath? Why?” 

Ulfric looked at him in the eye and replied strait faced, “Because the thief is also an assassin with the Dark Brotherhood and the Brotherhood makes their home in Falkreath Hold.” 

# 

Vorstag listened to the Imperial soldier sitting at the bar next to him as he waited for Meliandra at this remote inn in the forests of Falkreath close to the border of Whiterun; he was growing tired of his companion’s behavior as of late, these blatant attacks upon Imperial troops were becoming more and more dangerous for her, as he was discovering as he listened to the drunken soldier sitting next to him. 

“There’s stories going around the camps of a wench thirsty for blood.” 

“Say again?” 

“There’s some wench making her way through various camps,” he burped loudly then continued. “She fucks the soldiers and then she cuts their throats.” 

Panic gripped Vorstag. “Any idea who this bitch is?” 

The soldier shook his head, “Probably just some Stormcloak loving whore. All I know is that if I’m getting myself a piece of pussy and that bitch pulls a knife on me, I will have no problem cold-cocking her and dragging her ass out to the middle of the fucking camp where each and every one of us can have a go at her whore ass. And once we’re done with her, we’ll make her an example to all those rebels.” 

“Death to the Stormcloaks,” Vorstag said as he drank from his tankard. “I better get out there before I’m missed,” he said as he stood up, dropping some gold on the bar. “Take  
care of yourself.” 

He walked out the door into the dark of night, the stars the only source of light tonight and only when the clouds weren’t hiding them. He headed to the agreed upon location to meet up with Meliandra, his thoughts disturbed. He cared for Meliandra like she was his sister, they had become good friends, but he could not stand by and let her destroy her life. He knew he was going to have a serious talk with the assassin, a prospect he did not look forward to. 

He gathered some deadwood and started a small fire once he got to the meeting place. As he sat on a boulder near his campfire, he stared into the flames, watching them dance as his thought drifted to the brunette housecarl back in Whiterun and longed to fall asleep next to her once again. The past six months he had been getting to know the housecarl more and more whenever they had found themselves close to Whiterun and had slowly begun to come to the realization that he was developing deep feelings for her. 

The sound of footsteps broke through his thoughts; a dagger was in his hand almost instantly as he made chirping sounds then listened for the response which came immediately. He poked the fire before him, moving the embers around, breathing life into the fire, waiting for Meliandra to make her way to him. He held a bottle of mead out, knowing Meliandra would be wanting it after her late-night escapade of blood letting in the Legion’s camp. 

“We need to get out of here before you’re seen,” he said as the bottle was taken from his hand. 

“Why?” she asked, snapping at him. 

“Soldiers are talking about the killings of their comrades.” 

She snorted as she took a pull off the bottle. “Good,” she retorted, turning to look at him, “maybe they’ll turn tail and run away like the milk-drinkers they are.” 

“By the Nine, Mel!” He snapped at her, his eyes angry as he stared at her. “They want your blood. And milk-drinkers or not, they’re not going to be nice about it.” 

“Are you saying that you think that those scum sucking cowards can take me on?” 

“Just because you’re Dragonborn doesn’t mean you’re immortal!” 

She laughed. “I’m willing to find out if I am.” 

“For fucks sake, Mel! I didn’t sign on for this!” 

She stared at him, a glint in her eye he had never seen before; a shiver creeped up his back. She removed her coin purse and dropped it next to him. “Then go home, Vorstag. I don’t need to be worried about you having my back when I’m pulling jobs.” 

“That’s the thing, Mel,” he said as he stood up, grabbing his pack before looking at her. “You’re not pulling jobs for anyone but yourself. There’s no contract with the Brotherhood to be eliminating Legion officers and you’ve put as much distance as possible between you and Ulfric, even when you’re in Windhelm. You’re slaughtering these men for your own twisted sense of loyalty to the Stormcloaks. I want no part of this.” 

He turned and walked off, leaving Meliandra standing there in silence. She shook her head when he was out of her line of sight then stared at the coin purse still sitting in the dirt where she had dropped it. 

# 

The hammer truck the iron repeatedly, a blade slowly forming. He had been working on this piece all night, more out of frustration than of necessity. Astrid was angry. Again.  
The arrival of the recruit months previous had turned their world upside down. This new recruit that Astrid had brought in, the young Breton, Meliandra, had proven herself to be proficiently adept at the art of stealth and equally proficient in the art of murder. Astrid, became uneasy with how well the Breton had been accepted by the others after that.  
Then when the Keeper arrived with the corpse of the Unholy Matron things began to change within these halls forever. The Night Mother, long silent spoke to one of the family, proclaiming Babette to be the Listener. Though she’d never admit it, Arnbjorn knew she had been hurt when the vampire opted to make the Breton her advisor and enforcer.  
He stopped mid-swing as a familiar scent hit his nose; he turned his head to see the person of his wife’s consternation. “You’re back,” he said as he returned his attention to the sword he was forging for one of the Brotherhood. 

“You sound disappointed, Arnbjorn,” Meliandra purred, standing an arm’s length from the werewolf. She looked around the cave. “Where’s Astrid?” 

He looked at her again, a restrained look in his eyes. “In our room. And she’s not in a good mood.” 

“Has there ever been a time she was in a good mood?” 

“Yes,” he said as he began to work his forge again. “Before you came to us.” 

The Breton laughed. “She’s the one who invited me.” 

“Something she regrets every day.” 

She laughed again. “Too bad everyone else feels differently about that,” she said as she placed her hand on his shoulder and leaned forward, her lips brushing against his ear as she continued, “Even this big, bad wolf.” 

His nostrils flared as her scent assailed him, a low rumble rolled out from the pit of his stomach as he dropped his hammer and the sword, spun around, and grabbed both of her wrists. “You tread on thin ice, Meliandra,” he snarled. 

She pulled her wrists out of his grip, a smirk on her lips. “What’s the matter, Arnbjorn? Astrid have you on a short leash again?” 

“I love my wife,” he said pointedly to her. 

Meliandra smiled, patted his shoulder and began to walk away as she said, “Keep telling yourself that, Arnbjorn, keep telling yourself that.”


	3. Love and Betrayal

She felt an arm slink around her waist, then the soft breathing against her neck as her Dunmer lover trailed soft kisses along her skin. Coquettishly, she turned her head to meet the kisses, greeting them with kisses of her own. A hand found its way to her breast while the Dunmer’s arm held her closer. Breaking the kiss, Gabriella’s mouth found its way to Meliandra’s full bosom as she traced the Breton’s side lightly bringing pleasured moans from her.

The Dunmer sat up and looked upon her lover. “The smell of murder on you is quite intoxicating.” She ran her fingernails down her chest, scratching the skin just enough to bring blood to the surface. Gabriella leaned down and licked the blood off, her eyes never leaving Meliandra’s. “It is good to have you home, my love.” 

Gabriella reached over to the end table and, opening it, removed something just out of Meliandra’s view. She smiled at the woman beneath her as she said, “I think you deserve a welcome home fuck.” 

Meliandra smiled as she saw the Dunmer reveal the Phallus of Dibella, anticipation beginning to make her wet as she watched the dark elf apply a lotion to the dildo before slipping it into the Breton’s slit. Slowly, Gabriella fucked Meliandra with the phallic object, first softly, gently, lovingly but increasing the rhythm into hard, frenzied slamming until Meliandra arched her back, her orgasm flooding around her hand. She pulled the dildo out of her, then, bringing it to her mouth, she sucked Meliandra’s cum off it. 

Meliandra took the phallus from her, gently pushed the elf back, and began to kiss the dark skin of her thighs, making her way to the wetness of Gabriella. Flicking her tongue into her, she teased the Dunmer, licking the wetness, sucking on her pussy lips, and thrusting her tongue into her, fucking her. The dark elf moaned loudly, grabbing ahold of the Breton’s head as she grinded against her face. Upon releasing her head, the Breton lifted her head and slipped the dildo into her lover and began fucking her with such a frenzy she was soon crying out as she climaxed. Meliandra, with no hesitation, licked her lover dry. 

# 

Nazir ate his bowl of stew, ignoring the silence between Arnbjorn and Astrid as he spoke with Festus about the wizard’s latest job. He knew what lay beneath the tension and that reason was the Breton Astrid had recruited. It was no secret that Astrid’s lover now lay with the young Breton, yet few knew of Meliandra’s constant toying with the woman by tempting her husband consistently. Meliandra’s return to the Sanctuary early this morning was heard by everyone, making Astrid’s already sour mood worse. Festus was only too willing to try to ease the tension in the dining hall. They had been doing somewhat well until Meliandra appeared at the top of the stairs. 

The two women saw each other, and one could feel the tension spike. A sly smirk appeared on the Breton’s lips as her eyes went from Astrid to Arnbjorn who refused to look up at her. She sauntered down the steps to the table, stopping in front of Nazir. She picked up an apple and took a bite as she poured herself a tankard of mead before addressing the Redguard. “Have any contracts for me?” 

“I do have a contract in Winterhold,” he answered and proceeded to give her the details of the job. “Interested?” 

“Sure, I’ll take it,” she answered. 

Nazir watched her carefully waiting for one of the women to address the other, waiting for the storm that had been brewing for months. But instead the Breton took the paper from him that contained more information the she was going to need and exited the room, presumably going to see Babette before heading out of the Sanctuary. The Redguard glanced at Astrid to see the growing hatred on her face before glaring at her husband and storming out. 

# 

Meliandra exited the Sanctuary, blinking a few times as her eyes adjusted to the sunlight. The scent of nightshade was heavy in the air, the flowers flourishing in this heavily wooded hideaway. She began walking toward town, her mind on nothing in particular except for her mental list of the things she needed to restock; a visit to both the apothecary for ingredients and potions as well as a visit to Solaf at the general store was in order. She groaned at the thought of Bolund, the proudful Nord who worked at the mill and who was the brother of the storeowner, he always looked down at her simply because of her having Breton blood. His brother, though, Solaf, he was kind to her, always giving her a better deal on her purchases and sales with him. 

Suddenly a roar sounded around her, drawing her eyes skyward. She sighed heavily as the dragon began to beat its wings above her. She drew her bow as she sneered at the enormous beast. “I’ve already killed many of your kind, dragon. I will take your soul as well. Do you really want to do this?” She knew the beast would not answer her nor did it care how many of its kind she slew, yet she knew it understood her. 

The dragon breathed a cold breath upon her; she could feel the cold set into her bones as she blocked her face from the brunt of the blast. She slowly turned her head back to the dragon and smiled. Taking a deep breath, she Shouted “Yol!” The air around her sizzled as the flames crashed into the ice particles still hanging in the air. With an expert flick of her wrist, she cast a spell that created a heat shield around her, making the dragon’s frost breath attack ineffective, albeit for a short while. 

Again, she Shouted. “Yol!” As the dragon fell back from her Shout, she nocked one of the arrows she had dipped in a paralytic poison strong enough to paralyze a dragon that Babette had helped her create and brew. The arrow flew through the air and found its mark as it lodged itself in the beast’s throat. Again, she nocked a poisoned arrow and took aim again, releasing it almost immediately. This arrow also hit its intended mark, right in its chest. Once again, she Shouted, this time “Fus!” 

The dragon was pushed back with her Shout, but more importantly, the force of her Shout had pushed her arrows further past the scales of the beast allowing the poison to be introduced to tis bloodstream. Its wings slowed down, and the dragon began to descend as the paralyzing agent to the poison worked is way through the body. It tried to work its jaws, to Shout at her, but the poison had done its job and had done it well in paralyzing the neck; the beast fell to the ground with a resounding crash. 

She put her bow on her back, drew her sword and walked toward the grounded monstrosity, a wicked laugh rippling forth from her lips. “I told you, dragon, I have taken many souls from your brethren. Now I shall take yours as well.” She rushed forward, leaping upon the head of the dragon. She quickly turned her sword blade down and drove it through the thin part of its skull. 

She held onto the dragon as its death throes overpowered the poison and its gargantuan body began to convulse. She closed her eyes as the dragon lost its fight to live, hearing its soul cry out to her as she slowly absorbed it. Her own body began to tremble as she claimed the soul and memories of yet another dragon, growing even more powerful herself; the feeling was intoxicating. 

She jumped down off the beast, straightened the clothing she wore, and, picking up her dropped pack, continued toward Falkreath. 

#

Solaf listened to his brother complain as he pulled his boots on before heading back to the mill after eating a midday meal. It was the same complaint as always, this damned war, the lack of support for the Stormcloaks, and the increasing amount of non-Nords moving into Falkreath. He continued sweeping the floor, the dust and dirt having blown in with the winds. He busied himself, waiting for his brother to leave. A courier had arrived earlier in the day, a sealed letter with an accompanying letter ordering him to deliver the letter himself to the assassin Meliandra. He had also heard the rumors at the inn of the recent killings of Legion officers in the Hold and knew this meant that the assassin who had aligned herself with the Stormcloaks was close to home again and that he’d be seeing her again soon. 

He smiled as he recalled the last time he fucked her, just a couple weeks previous; she had been particularly feisty that day, insatiable in her lust for sex. He had willingly obliged her, closing his shop early and screwing her for the rest of the evening. His dick twitched as he thought of her lips wrapped around his member as she suckled him, coaxing his cum into her mouth, swallowing it obediently. He had worn that pussy out that day, pounding it with the fervor of a wild man. 

He nodded absent-mindedly as his brother walked by him, muttered his goodbye, and walked out of their shared home. A moment later he smiled as he heard Bolund’s voice boom, “What are you doing here, you fucking Breton whore?” 

“What’s wrong, Bolund?” he heard the woman respond, “jealous your brother gets a piece while you stand in the shadows stroking your dick wishing you had someone besides Rosie Palm and her five sisters?” 

“I oughtta- “ 

“You oughtta what?” he heard her interrupt. After a moment, he heard the heavy footfalls of his brother’s boots as he walked on the wooden planks away from the store and towards the mill followed by the smug laugh of the Breton. The door then opened as the black-haired assassin walked into the store, a warm smile on her face. His cock twitched again as he thought of her lips on him. 

“Hello, beautiful,” he said as he walked to the door, locking it. 

“Hello, handsome,” she purred as she set her pack onto the counter then turned back to him. “I trust you have some special deals to offer me?” She licked her lips as she walked toward him. 

“I always have a good deal for you, darling,” he answered as he began to unfasten his pants, dropping them to his knees. His erection was evident as he moved his loincloth out of the way. “I was just thinking about you and that mouth of yours.” 

“Oh, really?” she asked as she reached down and took his balls in her hand, massaging them as she met his eyes, a sparkle in her eyes. 

He closed his eyes and leaned his head back, enjoying the feeling of her fondling his sack. “Something came in for you.” 

She stopped short. “Something came for me? Here?” 

He opened his eyes. “Yes, to both.” He reached toward her, but she stepped back, letting go of him. “What? You’re gonna stop?” 

“Who the fuck knows to send me anything here?” 

He sighed as he pulled his pants back up and fastened them again. “Should’ve kept my fucking mouth shut,” he grumbled, walking over to the other side of the counter and pulling out the sealed letter, setting it on the counter. 

She stared at the seal that stared right back at her. The blue wax embossed with the familiar seal that belonged to the Windhelm jarl. “This is from Ulfric,” she stated matter-of-factly. 

“Yes.” 

“How the fuck does he know to send this here?” she demanded again. He began to answer when she cut him off. “Don’t fucking lie to me.” 

“Because he knows that the Dark Brotherhood makes their home on the outskirts of town and ordered me to keep an eye on you.” 

“Ordered you?” 

“Yes. I’m a retired Stormcloak.” 

Suddenly, she turned and grabbed her pack from off the counter. She turned back to him, glaring at him, her eyes blazing hotly. “You’ve been fucking spying on me. This whole goddamn time.” 

He folded his arms. “All’s fair in love and war, sweetheart. You swore your loyalty to Jarl Ulfric. Don’t think that he’s going to let you go that easily, Meliandra.”


	4. Letters

Amaund Motierre sat cross-legged on the fur covered hay pile, eating roasted chicken and bread; miserable that after over half a year he had received no answer to his prayers to the Night Mother. He had performed the ritual so many times he knew it by heart and could probably perform it in his sleep, the once squeamish reactions he had once had to the flesh and blood now no longer affected him. He had grown tired of the wait and had begun to wonder if the Dark Brotherhood was losing the glory they had once seen centuries previous. 

Suddenly a Shout echoed through the tomb, shattering the eerie silence that he and Rex had become accustomed to. The sounds of metal crashing against metal reverberated against the walls, coming closer to their locked chamber. Amaund looked at his bodyguard nervously. Rex set his food down, stood up, then walked toward the door, anxiously waiting. 

Silence set in, but it was anything but calm. Amaund became hyper aware of every sound his ears picked up, his breathing, Rex’s breathing, the sound of his own heartbeat pounding in his chest, the blood rushing in his ears. Then he heard scratching on the door, no in the keyhole. Someone was picking the lock. His heartbeat accelerated; he swore his heart was going to burst out of his chest. The cylinder was turning, he could hear it. Slowly, the sound of creaking continued until it stopped with the audible sound of the door unlocking. Amaund’s heart was now attempting to leap through his throat. 

Slowly, the door creaked open. 

# 

Ulfric sat at his desk, reviewing reports. More soldiers lost, either killed or captured. More land lost, the Legion occupying more and more of the small villages in the holds supportive of the cause. And although there were more reports of dragon attacks, confirmed sightings of the Dragonborn were far and few in-between. He sighed heavily as he opened a letter, this from a post in Whiterun. He sat up as he read, the corner of his lips turning into a slight smile. A day previous, a courier had arrived with a letter from Solaf reporting that Meliandra had been given his letter. This letter told him that the Breton had been encountered going through the Hold and it was found she was traveling north to Winterhold. 

Pouring himself a drink, he began to make plans for the assassin’s arrival. He would have Jorleif prepare the room he had placed her in before, fresh bedding, fresh firewood, a supply of candles and oil for lanterns. Knowing Galmar’s extreme distrust of the woman, he knew he’d have to agree to his demands of a guard posted outside the room with an increase of patrols through these passageways. He glanced across the hall, thinking of the chambers beyond those walls that would soon house a woman whose loyalty, though sworn to him, he did not know if he could put his faith in. She was also a woman he had found himself obsessed with despite his repeated attempts to put his growing feelings for her aside. She intrigued him, fascinated him in a way no woman ever had before. There was a mysterious air about her, it hinted at a life kept secret from others, something she was afraid of, or was it something she was ashamed of? 

He drank from his tankard, his thoughts returning to the reports in front of him. He sighed heavily as he picked one up and began to read again. 

# 

Meliandra stepped into the dusty chambers, lowered the hood on her cloak, and looked directly at the finely dressed man behind the guard. Tilting her head to the side, she smiled as she said, “You look surprised, Amaund. Did you think the Night Mother has not heard your incessant prayers?” 

He laughed as he approached her, ignoring the look of caution on his bodyguard’s face. “Actually, I was beginning to think that the Dark Brotherhood had fallen out of favor with her.” 

Meliandra’s smile grew even larger. “Perhaps it is the Motierre family that has fallen out of her favor. It has been quite a while since one of your family served the Night Mother. What is it that you ask of us?” 

“I’d like to arrange a contract. Several, actually. I daresay, the work I’m offering has more significance than anything your organization has experienced in, well, centuries.”

Meliandra looked irritated. “Get to it, little man.” 

“Please, allow me to state my business. Surely your time is as valuable as mine. As I said, I want you to kill several people. You’ll find the targets, as well as their manners of elimination, quite varied. I’m sure someone of your disposition will probably even find it enjoyable. But you should know that these killings are but a means to an end. For they pave the way to the most important target. The real reason I’m speaking with a cutthroat in the bowels of this detestable crypt. For I seek the assassination of… the Emperor.”

She smiled. “Leaders rise and fall. Business is business.” 

“You don’t know how happy I am to hear you say that. So much has led to this day. So much planning, and maneuvering. Now you’re here, as if the very stars have finally aligned. But I digress. Here, take these. They need to be delivered to your, um, … superior. Rexus.” He motioned for his bodyguard. “The items.” 

The man approached cautiously, handing over a sealed letter with a fine pouch. She accepted them without taking her eyes off the man. 

“The sealed letter will explain everything that needs to be done. The amulet is quite valuable – you can use it to pay for any and all expenses.” 

She nodded and slipped the letter and amulet in her pouch on her hip. Turning on hr heel, she exited the dusty chamber, continuing on her journey. 

#

General Tullius sat at the table in his rooms at Castle Dour, eating his evening meal as he read reports from his men in the field, his frustrations growing. While the Empire was reclaiming lands that the rebels had claimed or taken, support for the traitorous murderer grew. The soldiers they captured refused to speak even under the most intensive torture and many were sent to be held by the Thalmor, never to be seen or heard from again; Tullius asked no questions. 

He opened a sealed letter and began to read, his anger began to rise as he read the report of yet another one of his men being found in their tents or in a room at a local inn, their necks cut open. In each scenario, there was one common factor, the men had taken a whore to bed. Only one report had come with a vague description of the wench, a black-haired woman, short of stature. He was intent on finding this harlot who bedded his men then deprived them of their lives; he would exact punishment, one that would ensure that no rebel dared try to execute his men ever again. 

#

The wind was frigid, numbing her face; the snow fell fast and so thick she could barely see. She would have liked to have stayed at the inn there in Winterhold, but since she had nearly been caught after killing her target, she knew it to be prudent of her to get out of town and to do so quickly. She had misestimated when the snowstorm would come on shore and that was going to delay her arrival in Windhelm greatly. 

She sought out shelter, straining to see in the whiteout conditions, knowing that a cave must be around here somewhere. Her Breton blood did not agree with these freezing temperatures and she cursed the Stormcloak leader for calling for her during the colder months of the year. 

Her thoughts drifted to the jarl of Windhelm as she made her way through the snowstorm; the blue of his eyes as he looked into hers, the feel of his hands as he cupped her face before kissing her. She closed her eyes briefly, trying to rid the image from her mind. She also tried to forget that she had reciprocated his kiss, that she had even been thrilled by it. The man was dangerous and getting involved with him was a mistake she had known she was making but had also known that there really had been no choice for her in the matter. 

She saw a cave through the blowing snow and headed toward it. She hoped that she would be able to gather enough firewood to build a fire; she was cold and hungry. Baring there were no wolves or bears or even trolls in the cave, she would be happy, but the odds of the cave being empty were not in her favor. She readied herself and entered the cave. 

It was dark as she ventured further in; she cast a detect life spell and searched for the visual aura of any living creature she’d see. Slowly she made her way through the cave, casting her spell every so often. Suddenly, she stopped. She glanced around cautiously; then, muffling her steps, she crept along. The smell of cooked meat hung heavy in the air, making her stomach grumble in protest. By the smell of a freshly extinguished fire, she knew someone else was in the cave somewhere. 

She made her way through the last passage in the cave, weapon in hand. Quietly, she cast another detect life spell and saw the aura just beyond the cave wall. Slowly, she snuck through, listening intently. The smell of roasted meat grew stronger; she tightened her grip on her weapon. 

In the darkness she saw a figure sitting on a boulder, their back to her. She assumed the unknown person was male, something about the broad shoulders and arms seemed masculine to her. She tried to see if he had any weapons around him, but even her exceptional eyes could not make out much in the darkness. She approached slowly, watching him for any movement. The silence was broken, and she froze in place as his words reached her ears. 

“Why don’t you put that dagger away and have an ale with me, lass?” Brynjolf’s lilting voice asked.


	5. Storms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meliandra is driven into a cave during a fierce storm only to discover she's not alone in there.

The storm drove Brynjolf into the first cave he had come across. He had found a part of the cave off from the rest of it that was dry and had apparently been home to a hunter or nomad at one time evidenced by the cooking pots he had discovered in the ashes of a long cold fire pit. He found plenty of dry wood and began to build a fire. He reached into his pack and found the dried meat and bread he had packed before leaving Riften and began to eat. He was not fond of traveling up north; Nord or not, he was no fan of the snow and cold. 

A scuttling sound caught his attention as he turned to look around his little section of this cave. He slowly drew his dagger as his eyes adjusted to the dim light revealing a plump rabbit sitting amongst the grass. He looked at the meat in his hand then back at the rabbit and smiled. His dagger flew from his hand smoothly, the blade embedding itself in the rabbit’s chest, a squeak dying as quickly as the rabbit did. Moments later, his skilled hands were skinning the creature and getting it ready to be put on a makeshift spit; his mouth was watering as he thought of freshly killed rabbit being his meal for the night. 

As the rabbit cooked over the fire, he found himself thinking about the things he had learned in the past week and once again he found himself at a loss, his mind tormented with the endless what ifs and if onlys that come with the many regrets of life. He thought of Meliandra, the young Breton who had unexpectedly stolen his heart before he had made a complete mess of things because of an insecure Vex. Though he had wanted to make things right, had even tried to, they both had seemingly left that relationship deeply scarred. 

In the silence, the sound of rocks skittering down the slight incline beyond this room of the cave was noticeable. He quickly extinguished the campfire and pulled back into the shadows, watching the entrance for the coming movement he knew he would see shortly. 

His breath caught as he recognized the raven-haired intruder; she looked as beautiful as she did the day he met her. The months he had not seen her had changed her slightly; there was a darkness about her that he had glimpsed all those months ago when she killed Mercer Frey. He sat on the log by the fire again, placing his back to her; his thoughts were racing. 

He picked out an ale from his pack and held it for a moment, staring at it as he grappled with his emotions. Her steps got closer, he swore he could smell the floral perfumes she liked to wear; he swallowed the lump that had appeared in his throat, and held the ale out to the side and said, “Why don’t you put that dagger away and have an ale with me, lass?” 

The silence echoed off the stone walls before he heard her steps approaching him. From the corner of his eye, he saw Meliandra sit on the log next to him; he glanced over as she slipped the ebony dagger back into its sheath then placed it in her pack which she had set down next to her. A guard look in her amber eyes, she met his, bringing the painful memory of the last time that they had seen other to his mind. Knowing what he knew now, he wished he could take back those words he had spoken. 

“You know me too well, Bryn,” she said with a small smile. 

“I oughtta know you that well; you’ve held that very blade to my own neck before.” 

Her smile turned into a smirk as she remembered, turning to face him again. “You were ready to kill me. You may very well would have if you didn’t let your feelings get in the way.” 

He nodded in agreement. Aye, that I did, lass. But I don’t think you have that much of a problem with that though.” 

Chuckling, she agreed. She took the ale from him and began to drink. She motioned to the extinguished fire and rabbit, asking, “So, you going to finish cooking that thing or are you just going to let the smell torment our stomachs?” 

“Oh, so you think you can barge on up into my cave and then you expect me to cook you something?” he teased. “What, you think that because you’re the Guild Master you can just expect that of me?” 

He was rewarded with a laugh and a smile, which he discovered that he had missed greatly. He gestured to the campfire and asked, “Perhaps you’d like to oblige us both with starting the fire with a bit of your magic?” 

“Are you becoming lazy in my absence?” she asked as she cast a flame spell into the ashes, reigniting the embers and bringing the fire roaring back to life. 

“Lazy?” he repeated, a laugh hidden in his voice. “No, definitely not lazy, Meli.” 

“Of course not,” she answered, a look of avoidance to her eyes. “How’s the Guild doing?” 

He nodded as he answered, telling her of the growth they had seen with new recruits and even new merchants setting up shop in the Ragged Flagon. As they spoke, he realized how much he had missed her and resisted his desire to tell her as much; he doubted that she’d even want to listen to anything he had to say about their relationship, both the past one and this strained estrangement they found themselves in. 

Soon, they had eaten the rabbit, washed down with bottles of ale they both had in their packs. They talked into the night and into the early hours of morning, as they often had when they had first become lovers. Soon, he became aware of the Breton’s head resting on his shoulder and looked down to see that she had fallen asleep next to him.   
He smiled slightly as he kissed the top of her head, whispering, “Always and forever, lass, always and forever.” 

# 

“What do you mean she has to go? You going to banish her from the family?” 

Astrid laughed, bitterly. “You would like that. You’d prefer that, wouldn’t you?” 

“I’d prefer what? And to what?” He paused then stared at her in disbelief. “To her being dead? Is that what you’re getting at, Astrid? You want Meliandra dead?” 

“We are in the business of death, Arnbjorn.” 

The coldness of her words took him aback, so shocked was he at the depth of his wife’s hatred for the recruit she had brought in. “You would break our own code to rid yourself of her?” His words echoed off the walls of their room, the closed door giving them privacy. 

“You would keep her here amongst us?” 

“We don’t have any say in the matter, wife.” 

“Says who?” she retorted. 

Shaking his head, Arnbjorn walked out of their room, his thoughts angry. He ignored the Argonian assassin as he stormed out of the Sanctuary, shifting into a werewolf as he took off in an angry run. 

# 

Galmar had watched as Jorleif made the preparations to the chambers Ulfric had seen fit to provide Meliandra with; his distrust of the Breton thief was well known by those close to Ulfric and many had chosen to stay clear of the general when they learned that Meliandra was returning to the Palace. Ulfric had willingly agreed to his demands of more patrols and a guard posted by Meliandra’s door though once again he refused to assign an escort to the woman. 

He walked around the room, looking for any way the trained thief and assassin could get out of the palace unbeknownst to anyone on the inside. While Ulfric leaned to trusting her, Galmar felt the jarl’s view was biased because of his attraction to the woman. Galmar saw her as untrustworthy, especially because of her apparent successes where the enemy was concerned, but Ulfric put more faith in her than Galmar believed he should. 

Satisfied for the moment, the general turned, leaving the chambers behind. 

# 

She awoke to the sound of Brynjolf humming some song she wasn’t familiar with, the words of the chorus seemingly the only part he vocalized. She smiled as she lay on the hay pile she found herself on as recollections of nights wrapped in the Nord’s warm embrace as he softly sang to her. She laid there for a while, enjoying the moment while forgetting the things that weighed heavily upon her mind and soul. She let her mind wander with thoughts of a different life, one that had her living happily with a husband and child on a small farm where she could grow what crops she needed for her potion making. 

The parchedness of her throat drove her to finally sit up, her eyes opening to see the redheaded thief sitting on the log an arm’s length away from her. He smiled at her softly as he said, “Morning, sunshine. Hungry?” he held a plate toward her with cooked salmon. 

Her taste buds immediately salivated as her stomach gave a grumble. “Where’d you get the fish?” she asked as she made her way to the log, picking up the tankard of water along the way. 

“Stream outside, not far from the cave; I was following it yesterday when the storm hit. I knew that rabbit last night wouldn’t be enough to hold either one of us too long this morning so I went out and caught a few.” 

“How’s the storm?” she inquired as she took a bite of the flaky fish, savoring the taste of the fish. 

“Died down to nothing sometime this morning; was calm outside when I ventured out to get us some fish.” He cleared his throat then said, “You never said where you were headed, lass.” 

“Windhelm,” she replied flatly. 

He nodded. “Job for Stormcloak?” 

She shrugged. “Not sure; he sent a letter via courier requesting met o return, he didn’t go into detail.” 

“Be careful going up there, Meli. The Empire isn’t playing around with this rebellion of his.” 

She smiled at her former lover, knowing that he still cared greatly for her. “I will,” she promised him before changing the subject. “What about you? What are you doing up this way?” 

“Winterhold; going to pay a visit to Enthir about some Guild matters, nothing serious, though, so no need to worry.” 

They sat there, talking for a bit, both having business to take care of but neither wanting to leave the company of the other. It was Brynjolf who finally began getting his things together to leave. Taking her cue from him, she began to get ready as well and soon they were exiting the cave together and biding each other farewell. As they parted ways, she found herself once more thinking of that family she always wanted, and more and more, she found herself wishing it would be Brynjolf that she settled down and built a family with.


	6. Orders & Obligations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meliandra returns to Windhelm.

A turbulent storm had rolled through the northern lands of Skyrim late the previous day, the fierce boreal winds bringing a blistery snowfall that blinded any who ventured out from the shelter of their homes. This having followed a smaller storm made Ulfric edgy knowing that these storms were the cause of Meliandra’s delayed return to his city. Frustrated, the jarl had retired to his chambers early and had remained there until morning. As he laid in his bed staring at the ceiling that morning, he hoped that the weather would be cooperative enough to bring the Breton back. Not only did he feel she was the best suited for this mission, but he needed to satisfy his obsession and see her again, despite her running from his kiss. 

Throwing the snow bear fur blanket off him, he sat up, the cold bite of the air hitting his half naked body, the crispness making him more alert as he swung his toned legs off the bed and stretched, the muscles in his back and shoulders rippling beneath the still taut yet aging skin. He felt the age in his bones, saw it in his eyes as he glanced at his reflection in the mirror on his wall. Again, he found himself fearing that he would leave this world childless, no heir to pass the throne to. Once again, he felt a pang of anger and loss at the memory of the discovery that his former lover Mila had killed the unborn babe he had put in her. 

He began dressing, opting for one of his thicker cloaks to combat the chill he felt more and more as he grew older. He slipped his rings upon his fingers and left his chambers. The sconces lit the passageways with flickering light, casting shadows that danced upon the stone-faced walls as he made his way toward the entrance to the main hall. He noticed there were a few more maids in the hall than usual but he chalked it up to the expected arrival of Meliandra and continued walking on. It wasn’t until he heard the crackling of a fire just beyond the door to her chambers that he realized the real reason he had seen more maids. 

Pushing the heavy door open slightly, he saw the raven-haired assassin asleep in the large bed, the fur blankets covering her body, one arm tucked across her stomach while the other was stretched across the bed. As both an assassin with the Dark Brotherhood as well as being the Guild Master for the Thieves guild, he knew she had anything but a peaceful life, but as he gazed at her lying there before him, he would never have known it by the look of peace and serenity on her face. Looking upon the painted lips, he remembered the taste of mead upon them as he had given way to his temptation and had placed his lips upon hers; he yearned to imbibe of those lips once more. 

“Are you going to just stand there and stare at me?” Meliandra’s sarcastic voice said, breaking the silence. 

Startled for but a moment, he found himself at a loss for words. He shrugged, a slight smile appearing upon his face as he stepped into the room, closing the door behind him, leaving it slightly ajar. “I was not aware that you had returned; forgive me for the intrusion.” 

She opened her eyes and looked at him, amusement clearly written on her face. “I wouldn’t be very good at my job if people always knew that I was there.” She sighed as she sat up, the furs dropping from her revealing her half-dressed lithe figure. She met his eyes as she continued saying, “Once the storm let up last night, I made my way here. Jorleif was up when I got here and saw to my immediate needs.” 

He nodded, watching her as she walked over to a chair that held a leather knapsack and began rummaging through it. His eyes could not help but follow the length of her legs, appreciating the defined muscle of her calves; in his mind he saw her legs wrapped around him and he forced the ensuing images from his head as he cleared his throat. “Yes, Jorleif is a blessing and always has been invaluable to my family.” 

“I can see why,” she answered as she pulled clothing from her pack and began to dress. “So are you going to tell me why you sent for me?” 

Nodding, he responded, “Straight to the business at hand. Good.” He sat in a chair by the door and continued, “I need you to do some reconnaissance on Legion troops.” 

She smiled as she laced up her boots before pulling a tunic over her head. “Sounds like fun. What am I looking for?” 

Ulfric sat back in the chair, steepling his fingers before him. “Orders.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Can you be a bit more specific?” 

“We’ve had reports of Imperial movements on the fringes of holds loyal to our cause. Despite men being sent in to infiltrate the enemy’s camps, none have succeeded.” 

“And this is where I come in.” 

Ulfric nodded, a smile on his face. “Very astute, Meliandra.” He folded his hands in front of him, continuing, “Seeing how you’re the only person to ever break into my personal armory and walk out with my father’s rings, you are by far the most qualified to get in and out without being seen.” 

She smiled at him, a mischievous look in her eyes. “Getting into Legion camps are not a problem.” 

“Oh?” he asked, curious. “Why is that?” 

She smiled. “A woman has her ways.” 

“Wait, are you…” He trailed off a moment as he recalled some of the reports he had come across. “You’re the one that’s murdering Legion soldiers, aren’t you?” 

Her smile remained yet he noticed the shadowed look that came to her eyes. “A few less soldiers that you need to worry about.”   
He began to rub his forehead with his thumb and forefinger then looked at her. “I need you to do this without being seen. I do not need you to get caught, especially with a price on your head.” 

She looked surprised. “What’s the bounty?” 

A frustrated look spread on his face. “Two hundred. And knowing the Empire, they will take your head. Or have or forgotten what it was like to have the executioner’s axe above your neck?” 

She glared at him, but he knew that he had made his point. “I need to take care of a few things while I’m in town, replenish some of my travel supplies, that kind of thing.” 

He nodded, a smile in his eye. “How’s that swing of yours? Have you worked on your grip?” 

She looked away from him but not before he saw a flash of red creep into her cheeks. “Some; I’ve switched up my choice of weapon as of late.” 

He saw the ebony dagger on the end table and responded, “Preferring that sentimental piece?” 

She chuckled slightly. “I always have that piece. And yes, I do know how to work it properly. But no, I’ve picked up a new set of weapons.” Looking at him, she continued, 

“Perhaps one day you’ll see me use them, but in all honesty, Sir, I hope you don’t.” She smiled broadly as she picked up her pack. “Now if you’ll excuse me, the sooner I get restocked, the sooner you’ll have the information you need.” 

# 

Meliandra walked past the Windhelm jarl as she exited her rooms, her head held high, her heart threatening to leap from her throat. He had not dismissed her, had not said that he was done speaking with her, yet she had taken the liberty to leave his presence, something no one of her lowly status got away with. Yet she knew he would let it slide, for she had seen the look in his eyes, the look of testing the waters one stood in, mixed the look of hunger. The way his eyes had lingered on her, the way they traced her image into his mind, she had seen those looks plenty from many a man. He was just one more. 

But while she had had many men, many lovers, while she found herself attracted to the rugged, mature Nord, even longing to feel his hands upon her once more, she knew that she could not let Ulfric number amongst her lovers. If he ever found out her secrets, she knew she could never escape him or his anger. No, she knew she needed to keep as much distance between the two of them as possible, regardless of any feelings she might have. 

Once she had made her way through the Palace and outside, she made her way to the market and spoke with Niranye. After making her purchases she went to Aval’s stall and bought some meats before heading to the Aretino home. Aventus was excited to see his benefactor again and exploded with his usual questions of what adventures she had had. His interest of her work made her smile, but it worried her. “Aventus,” she said calmly, “why do you stay here all alone? Why not go back to Honorhall now that Grelod is dead? Don’t you miss your friends there?” 

The boy shrugged. “Yeah, I do, but… I don’t want to be adopted. I mean, I did, but not anymore.” 

“Why not?” 

“Because, if I’m adopted I might never see you again.” 

“Now why do want to keep seeing me, kid?” she asked, surprised. 

“Because you’re the only person I know who can help me become an assassin and help others.” 

She stared at him, her jaw slightly agape. “Why would you want to be an assassin?” 

“Why did you become one?” 

She shook her head. “My reasons are my own. You’ve got a lot of options besides an assassin.” 

“What options are there for a runaway orphan? A stable boy forced to live with the farm animals? Living off scraps? Please, if my pa and my ma hadn’t died, I would be enlisting as a Stormcloak in a couple years, but… I’m supposed to be at Honorhall.” 

“So, what? You’re going to stay here, living off my generosity?” 

“I never asked for you to take care of me; you just keep coming here with food and stuff. What do you expect me to do? Let the food go to waste?”   
She sighed as she stared at him, shaking her head slightly. “Good point.” She took a drink of her mead, thinking about the spot she found herself in. “Fine,” she finally said. “You win. I’ll make sure you have everything you need; I’ll think about the assassin part.” 

The boy smiled broadly. “Yes!” 

“I said I’d think about it.” 

“Continuing to smile, he said, “Did you know that the other Shatter-Shield sister was killed?” 

She glanced at him from the corner of her eye. “Oh? That’s too bad. Tova must be beside herself with grief.” 

“Yeah, so much grief she killed herself.” 

She looked at the boy, her eyebrow raised. “Guilt does funny things to people.” Smiling she said, “I should pass on my condolences.” 

“You did it, didn’t you?” 

She smiled at the boy as she picked out an apple and took a bite from it. She gathered her belongings and headed for the door. “See you next time, kid.” 

# 

The gates to the city shut behind her with a thud. Pulling the hood to her cloak closer to her face, she headed across the bridge out of Windhelm. Behind her, a sellsword, one she had met months ago when she had been investigating the Butcher murders. Finding him still in Windhelm at the inn and her being in need of a new traveling companion, she laid down the coin for his blade at her side. She knew she could not trust this man with the secret of her being Dragonborn; he talked too much. But for her needs, he would do.


	7. Rikke's Search

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *teaser chapter*

Tullius stared at Rikke in disbelief. “Another one?” he repeated, anger edging his voice.

The Legate stood in front of the general’s desk, her back ramrod straight, her eyes forward. She had been listening to the Imperial general rant about Stormcloak and his rebels for most of the morning, something that he did quite frequently. She had not looked forward to having to inform the man that another one of his officers had been found with his throat cut open and that once again no one had gotten a good enough look at the woman he had brought to his bed. 

“Yes, sir,” she answered in a clipped tone. 

“Just what kind of people support Ulfric? They’re rabid animals! Just listen to the reports! The neck is cut so badly, the head is nearly severed! The last one had his tongue removed, the list goes on and on! I thought you Nords were a civilized people!” 

Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath before asking her superior, “Have any of the victims had any idea what we’re searching for?” 

The general shook his head. “Thankfully, no. Not many people know about this wild goose chase of yours you have us on. If my superiors back in Cyrodiil knew that I was wasting men and resources on this, they’d pull me out of here so fast…. And heads would roll.” 

“Trust me, Sir. We will find it. And we want to find it before Stormcloak does.”


	8. Encounter in the Woods

She sifted through the chest of personal belongings looking for any clue as to what the Empire was up to; she found letters from home, letters from a lover, journals chronicling his time with the Legion, a coin purse that held a small amount of gold coins. She pocketed the gold and closed the chest then made her way to the end tale next to the bed. A copy of the Lusty Argonian and some dirty, crusty rags lay atop the piece of furniture in front of a strongbox. The strongbox, she discovered, was unlocked and she began rummaging through it, finding only a couple items of value and worth taking. Opening the drawer of the end table, she smiled. A separate strongbox, smaller, flatter, sat in the drawer, and this one was locked securely. Lifting it, she found it to be not as heavy as one might possibly have thought. She took her lockpick set out and busied herself at her task. A moment later she was rewarded with the sound of the lock disengaging and the strongbox was opened. There, sitting all by itself, was a sheet of paper, a broken seal of the office of the Emperor upon it. Takin git out, she opened it and read the contents within, her smile becoming broader the more she read. Tucking the letter into her tunic, she returned the strongbox to the drawer, drank her invisibility potion and snuck out of the tent and out of camp.   
Stenvar was waiting for her at the agreed upon location; she was pleased with his ability to stay on task when she was stealthily making her way through the Legion camps. He had quickly picked up on her affinity for honey mead and always made sure there was one available to her when she’d return. She didn’t mind his company, and he was a decent fighting partner. “Time to head back to Windhelm,” she said as she took the bottle of honey mead from him. 

“Good; I really don’t want to be captured by the Empire for fucking around their camps right now.”

“What? You don’t feel adventurous?” she teased. 

“I like my head attached to my body, if you know what I mean,” he answered. 

“Yeah,” she answered flatly, “I do.” They gathered their belongings and began their journey back north.   
It wasn’t long until Meliandra saw the dark of night slowly give way to the light of the morning sun, the hues of yellow and read setting the sky aflame. She never grew tired of watching the sunset or the sunrise; she found it reassuring, a reminder that life goes on. Soon the sun’s rays began to warm her skin, invigorating her as she walked along the road toward Windhelm. 

It was some time before Stenvar started glancing around, searching the horizons nervously. She merely smiled as the familiar smell grew stronger as they walked along. Her heightened senses had already alerted her long before of his presence and was merely waiting until he was ready to come to her. Soon she could see his form along the tree lines; she knew it was time. 

“Hey, Stenvar,” she said in a nonchalant way, “I’m getting hungry. Why don’t you go find us something to eat? Maybe rabbit or some fish?” 

“Are you sure? I don’t think it’s a good time-“ 

“Stenvar,” she interrupted, “I’ll be fine, trust me. Just…, just go find us some food. And take your time.” 

He grumbled as he walked off, but her attention was in front of her among the trees. Patiently she waited until she saw the tall Nord emerge, a smile gracing her lips with a touch of seduction to her amber eyes. His tattered clothes clung to his fibrous frame, the length of his gait accentuating the rippling of the muscles beneath the firmness of his Lycan skin. There was a bridled, heated look in his eyes as he approached. 

“Are you happy with your fucking games, bitch?” he snarled at her as his hand shot out to her neck, his fingers wrapping around her throat just tight enough to make her aware of her air supply. 

She licked her lips with a smile. “Well, hello to you, too, Arnbjorn. Astrid let you of your leash again?”   
She felt the tree upon her back as he pushed her up against it. His face was mere inches from hers; she could hear his racing heartbeat. “Why must you torment my wife so?” 

“Oh, come on, Arn, you know she hasn’t considered herself married for years. She has taken nearly every member of the Brotherhood to your bed and you know she has. All the while you’re sitting at her feet wagging your tail, waiting for her to pay attention to you and your needs, the selfish bitch.” 

His grip tightened as he glared at her. “Watch you tongue, wench.” 

“Watch it do what?” She ran he tongue along her lips. “You do seem to enjoy my flicking across the tip of your dick. Is that it, Arn? You want me to give your cock some attention?”

A grumble emitted from deep within him. “She wants you dead.” 

Her eyebrows raised but her voice remained even as she responded, “But you’d never allow that to happen, now would you?” 

She watched as the werewolf took a deep breath, eyes closed, his nostrils flaring slightly as his Lycan senses took in the scent of her, creating the response the Breton had come to expect from him. “You test my boundaries, wench.” 

“You wouldn’t have it any other way,” she purred, stretching to brush her lips against his cheek. 

His hand quickly shifted to grab ahold of her bottom jaw and turned her chin forcibly so that he was staring down into her face. “There’s a special place in the Void for people like you.” 

A seductive look played upon her lips as she replied in a lust filled voice. “And you’ll be right there with me.” 

Arnbjorn’s agreement came by means of the crushing of his lips upon hers as he pushed against her, the hardness of him pressing against her. He released his hold on her chin, bringing his hands to the waistline of the armor she wore and quickly loosening them. Once they lay at her feet, he quickly removed his own tattered clothing, his erection now released from the confines of his pants. Breaking his kiss, he stepped back, rested his hands on her shoulders and pushed her to her knees. Taking a hold of her head, he shoved his cock in her mouth, thrusting himself back and forth as she obediently began sucking his member. His grunting was filled with pleasured sounds as she orally satisfied him; he felt the excitement building and pulled her head back, starting at those eyes looking up at him. 

“Turn your ass around, whore,” he commanded. She got to her feet and turned around. 

“Hug it,” he ordered as he pushed her toward the tree. 

She leaned on the tree, gripping its sides as he began rubbing her ass cheeks roughly, slapping them hard enough to leave large red marks on them. His fingers found and explored her hole, finger fucking her as she rocked back and forth on his fingers. “That’s it, you fucking slut, get yourself ready for my cock, get yourself nice and wet for me.” His fingers pumped harder into her until he knew she was about to come, then he withdrew his fingers and quickly slammed his cock hard into her, eliciting a gasp from her. He rode her and rode her hard, taking his frustrations out on the Breton who begged for more from him. 

His release was fierce as his body went rigid, his seed exploding deep inside of her. He stood there for a moment, immobile and with labored breath, his sweat rolling down his chest, glistening in the morning sun. He slapped her ass as he pulled out of her, the scent of her own orgasm wafting to his Lycan heightened sense of smell. 

He pulled his trousers on, cinching them closed. “Watch yourself with Astrid, Tidbit. She does want to be rid of you permanently.” And with nothing else to say, the man walked off towards the woods before shifting into wolf form and running into the trees.


	9. The Report

A light snow fell as Ulfric stood atop the sentry wall of his city, looking across the river at the two figures making their way toward Windhelm. It didn’t take long for him to notice that it was Meliandra and a sellsword he had seen many times at the inn. Her return told him that she had completed the mission he had sent her on and that made him anxious to learn what she had discovered. As he turned to head back to the palace, he saw Galmar approaching him; he took a deep breath and greeted his housecarl and friend. “Out for a walk as well?” 

The general snorted. “No, unlike you, I train to clear my head, not get stuck in it by walking around in circles.” He looked over the wall as he stood by it. “I see the thief has returned.” 

Ulfric looked at him, his eyebrow raised, but ignored the intended slight and responded, “Yes, I was just about to return to the Palace to debrief her.” 

“I really would prefer if I handled that, Ulfric.” 

Again, the jarl looked at him, his eyebrow raised once more. “And why would I do that when you’re convinced she’s an Imperial operative?” 

“Because your own view is clouded by the lust of your loins.” 

Ulfric glared at him. “Do you doubt my ability to rule, Galmar?” 

“Of course not, Ulfric, he answered quickly. 

“Then hold your tongue when you think you can question my authority.” 

“Yes, my Jarl.” 

Ulfric began to walk toward the Palace grounds once again, grumbling loudly, “I have my own concerns about the Breton to deal with.” 

# 

He walked into his personal study finding the Breton standing at a table and helping herself to his mead. Smiling mordantly, he said, “By all means, do help yourself to my mead.” 

Smiling at him in return, she replied, “I’ll have one of the Guild bring you a case of Maven’s finest, Black-Briar Reserve.” 

He laughed. “That Imperial loving kiss ass?” He shook his head. “No thank you.” 

She shrugged. “Your choice.” 

He half smiled as he sat at his desk. “Well, if you’re going to drink my mead, I’d suggest that getting me a tankard of it would be an acceptable way of showing your thanks.” 

She looked at him through the corner of her eye, a smile appearing on her lips. “Of course, my Jarl.”

The look of seduction flashed briefly across her face before she turned her head, pouring him the tankard he requested; he felt his desire stir deep within him and silently he groaned. She had taken the time to remove the thick layers that had warmed her Breton blood, now revealing the sleeveless bodice she wore with pants made of leather; his eyes took in her slender frame with her muscular tone with the cream coloring of her skin and his thoughts took him down that path of wanton desire. He watched in silence as she turned and walked toward him, a tankard in each hand. Leaning slightly toward him, she placed a tankard before him; he was given a view of the fullness of her breasts as she leaned toward him. He met her eyes as he said, “Galmar would probably advise me to have one of my servants drink from this first,” and picked up the tankard. 

“Poison is not my style, sir. I assure you, the mead is untouched and safe.” 

He took a swallow, his eyes never leaving hers. “I should hope so, Meliandra,” he stated with a smile. “Now, I assume you have news to report?” 

She reached into her satchel on her hip and produced the letter she had stolen from the Legion camp and handed it to him. “I believe this is what you’re looking for, sir.” 

Opening it, he read and as he read his smile grew until it was touching his eyes, a laugh escaping his lips. “Indeed, it is,” he finally said, folding the letter and placing it in his drawer. “The Jagged Crown. Do you know the story of the Crown?” 

She shrugged. “Vaguely.” 

“I assumed that would be the case.” He sat back, drink in hand, a thoughtful look to his eyes. “What my father told me was that it was made from the bones of dragons and that it carried part of every king or queen’s power that ever wore it, from the time of King Harald all the way to King Borgas. When Borgas was killed in Valenwood in 1E 369, it was believed that the crown was lost. Yet, a legend tells a tale of King Borgas’s body being secreted back to Skyrim and that he was reburied with his crown, the Jagged Crown. But because of the War of Succession, that location was lost to history.” 

“Until now,” she said, looking toward the drawer that he had placed the letter in. 

“Apparently.” He took another drink of mead. “Do you know where Korvanjund is?” 

“I believe so, I’d have to check my map to be sure.” Her eyes narrowed slightly as she eyed him suspiciously.  
“Why?” 

“Because I’m going to have you join Galmar and the rest of his contingency when they head there tomorrow.” 

“With Galmar? The man who doesn’t trust me as far as he can throw me?” 

He laughed. “That’s exactly the reason why, too.” At her confused look, he asked, “Do you want to earn his trust  
or to continue have him thinking that you’re a spy for the Empire?”

She stared at him for a moment then turned her head to look out the window, taking a drink from her tankard. 

“What, Meliandra, you don’t care for my solution?” he chuckled. 

“No, I don’t,” she answered. “But I don’t have much choice in the matter now, do I?” 

“Of course, you do.” He smiled at her again. “You can obey my orders as your commanding officer or you can choose not to and suffer the consequences, the same as any other person who has sworn their allegiance to me.” 

She snorted. “Yeah, that’s some choice there.” 

“You’re the one who chose to swear your loyalty to me. Willingly.” 

“Because that was the only way you’d let me investigate the Butcher, and it’s a good thing I did, too! I found more connections between Mila and her Imperial contacts.” 

“Yes, you did. I thank you for that. But the fact remains, you swore fealty to me.” 

“Yes, I did,” she responded. “And I keep the oaths I swear.” 

His face softened. “You were betrayed.” 

Nodding, she replied. “By many people throughout my life.” 

“Those with a pure heart often are.” 

She snorted again. “I wouldn’t go so far as to say that I’ve got a pure heart.” 

Ulfric chuckled. “That could be said about myself as well.” 

“Yeah. You fight for your people, more than others would.” 

He leaned forward. “And what do you call what you did with the Thieves Guild?” 

She laughed but there was pain echoing in that laughter. “Revenge.” 

“Revenge?” he repeated, now confused. “Revenge for what?” 

Her eyes shifted towards the ground. “Mercer Frey had betrayed the Guild in an unforgivable way. He had killed the Guild Master before him and had framed one of the Guild for the deed. He turned us against each other, he made us question each other and our loyalties to both the Guild and to each other.” Her voice took on a somber tone. “He manipulated me, made me a pawn in his game, and then he tried to kill me.” She looked back at him. “Yeah, I did do what needed to be done to restore the Guild and the faith we had in it and each other. But I wont lie; I was purely motivated by revenge.” 

Something in her eyes changed, he saw it for the flicker of a moment that it was there. Suddenly he realized where her revenge had come from. “You two were lovers,” he said, flatly. 

She looked him in the eye; the shadowed look had returned to her eyes but not before pain had registered. She nodded, saying, “Yes. We were.” 

He rested his arms on the desk, clasping his hands in front of him. He cleared his throat, beginning to understand why she had run from him that night. “I had no idea. I am sorry.” He paused, searching for the right words. As he looked at her, he remembered, not for the first time, the taste of honey mead on those lips as he kissed them as she welcomed his embrace. For months he had wondered what had happned that night, what was it that had sent her running from his Palace and had kept her away. As the realization came to him, he saw that he had indeed crossed a line too soon and now felt the fool. “So when you ran from me that night- “ 

“No,” she interrupted sharply. 

“No?” he repeated. “What do you mean, no? No what?” 

“Not the reason I left.” Her voice was clipped as she began to shift in her chair, her discomfort obvious. 

He looked at her, searching her face, trying to discern that part of her she kept hidden from him. She held the mask she wore tightly to her impassive face, not allowing him a glimpse behind her shadowed eyes, eyes that had watched him intently, eyes that he had seen with lust burning in them as they held his. He sat back in his chair, frustration written across his brow. “Then why, Meliandra?” She stared at the top of his desk in silence, chewing on her bottom lip. “I think I deserve a response, don’t you?” 

She looked up at him, guarded. “I told you that night. It’s not right.” 

“Why?” he demanded. “Have I somehow misread the looks you’ve given me when you thought I did not see? You were quite willing to kiss me back that night, I might add in case you have forgotten.” 

She closed her eyes for a moment as she said, “It does not matter. No matter what I tell you, no matter what I do, I know what would happen, what will happen if I were to…reciprocate those feelings. The only thing that would come from… us… I know how that would end… no matter what, that path will have only one ending, and that’s one of pain. For the both of us.” 

“You know this?” he said, sarcastically. “Because of what? Because others have done this to you in the past already? Are you that quick to just lump me into a group with those fools?” 

“Again,” she snapped, “you assume what you do not know!” 

“Then, please, Meliandra, please tell me why it is so wrong for us to be together if we both are attracted to one another!” he exclaimed in exasperation. 

She stood up suddenly and stormed out the door, saying along the way, “You’re dangerous, Ulfric. I have too much at stake to get caught up with you like that.”


	10. The Jagged Crown

The sun was shining brightly off the snow on this cloudless day; Galmar applied the black paint below his eyes and put his helmet before exiting his tent to address the men. He looked at them as they gathered in front of him once he called for their attention. He knew that once the men found out why they were here; they’d be in disbelief just as he had been when Ulfric had told him a day ago of Meliandra’s discovery. While he hoped the letter that the Breton had come back with was right, he feared this was some kind of trap. The fact that Imperials had been spotted in the distance only rattled his already frayed nerves. 

“Alright, you lot of mangy mutts, listen up!” he said loudly. Those Imperials aren’t here by coincidence. Our spies tell us that the Empire believes the Jagged Crown lies somewhere within these ruins, and they don’t want us to have it. But they will not stand in our way!” He looked through the faces in front of him, some older, some no younger than a pup. “I know some of you are ex-legion and may know men on the other side. But remember this.” He paused, making sure all eyes were on him. “They are the enemy now and they will not hesitate to kill you. Keep your wits about you and watch your shield brother’s back.” He saw the Breton in the throng of soldiers; he smirked as he thought of the conversation he had had with the jarl before heading out.

‘Keep her in your sights if you can, make her do the grunt work, test her limits. I want to know her strengths and her weaknesses.’

The idea of keeping a close eye on the thief had made his day and as he looked at her now, his joy was renewed. He addressed the group again, “Ulfric Stormcloak is counting on us to bring him back that crown, and that’s exactly what we are going to do.” He waited for the men’s applause to die down. “Meliandra Valeria,” he called out loudly, “I have special orders for you.” 

He watched with satisfaction as she made her way to him as the sea of soldiers parted between them. All eyes fell upon her, watching the petite woman make her way to the front, knowing his putting her on the spot made her uncomfortable. He looked down at her when she finally stood before him. “I’m glad Ulfric made the decision to have you join us and under my command.” 

She smirked at him. “Of course, you are. Any opportunity to catch me working with the Empire would make you happy. Hell, if you were to find any sort of proof of it, you’d be happier than a pig in shit, wouldn’t you?” 

Galmar laughed heartily as he looked her up and down. “You’ve definitely got a mouth on you, don’t you, girl? I can see why you’ve got Ulfric’s attention, but don’t think that’s going to work with me.” 

“And you don’t scare me, Stone-Fist,” she said firmly. “Did you have a reason for calling me up here? Shouldn’t we be heading into this graveyard looking for this Crown?” 

He motioned to the elven bow on her back. “How good are you with that thing?” 

She narrowed her eyes. “If I weren’t any good with it, I wouldn’t be carrying it. Why?” 

He cocked his eyebrow as he said, “I want you to take a supportive position, covering us until we get inside.” 

Her eyebrow raised as the corners of her lips turned up. “You’re talking my language, old man.” 

“Good.” He raised his voice as he turned and started walking toward the ancient tomb. “Alright, you sons of bitches, let’s get that Crown!” 

#

The steel warhammer crashed down on his battleaxe, the strength behind the swing more powerful than he had thought it’d be; he swore he could feel the vibration rattling down his spine as he swung the battleaxe with the soldier’s side. The resounding sound of shattering bone let him know he had found the weak spot of his enemy’s armor. “Your blood is such a pretty shade of red,” he taunted as the Legionnaire dropped to the ground. As he delivered the killing blow, he heard the hiss of an arrow as it flew past him, followed by the grunt of the Osimer soldier as she fell lifeless to the ground, the arrow embedded deep into her forehead. Galmar looked up to see Meliandra, perched high above him, her bow in hand, an arrow nocked as she scanned the area below. He watched as one by one, she picked off soldiers from her perch. 

Suddenly, there was an elven soldier behind her, a sword drawn and ready to strike. He began to call out to warn her but stopped as he saw her drop her bow and spin around, her hands moving rapidly, seemingly blocking her attacker’s strikes with nothing but her arms and bare hands. He watched in awe at the fluidity of her movements, the seemingly nonchalant aura of her demeanor. The sun glinting off the metal in her hands alerted him to the fact that she was, indeed armed. Again, he was awed. 

He watched as her fist swung toward her attacker widely, hooking his arm with the tip of her blade she held in her hand, pulling his arm away from her. She brought her fist back toward the Bosmer’s unprotected side; the Breton was sprayed in blood as the elf fell back a step. He saw the elf say something to which Meliandra laughed. The elf lunged toward the Breton, grabbing her wrist in the process. Her arm was pushed against her chest, but she brought her other hand in from below and against his abdomen. She pushed back at the soldier using the full weight of her body as she gained control of his arm, twisting it painfully and instantly forcing him to lose his hold on her wrist as her own blade, once again, found the unprotected area of his side, wounding him once more. With her free arm, she put the elf in a chokehold and, with her now free hand, quickly thrust her blade into the Bosmer’s neck, twisted the blade to the side and severed the arteries as she savagely ripped her knife out his neck. Blood spurt from the gaping wound as she released her hold on him, his life already departed from his body before it hit the ground. 

He watched as she turned and walked to the edge of the wall, and, finding a spot she could safely jump to, made her way down to the ledge her bow had fallen to then made her way to him. The Bosmer’s blood was smeared across her face from where she had wiped away at it using her arm. Her eyes shone with bloodlust as she looked at him, a smirk on her bloody lips. 

He nodded at her slightly as he walked past her, his voice stern as he said, “Glad you’re fighting on our side, but I still don’t trust you.” 

# 

She crept along the walkway, her magic muffling her steps as she counted the Imperial soldiers in this section of the tomb; her detect life spell illuminating their life essence to her eyes. She knew she could easily handle a handful of them before they determined her position accurately, possibly a few more if she could get them on the oil covered floor long enough for her to be able to break one of the clay jars above them that would drop another oil that would combust once it touched the floor. That would hopefully take care of the most of them while Galmar and the others made their way into this chamber from their positions in the antechamber outside, waiting for her signal. 

She saw her opportunity when a group of soldiers stood in a group on the oil while one of them stood off to the side and began pissing against the wall. Her arrow flew from her bow, crashing into the clay jar, shattering it loudly followed by a flash of flames as the oils mixed. The chamber quickly filled with the anguished screams of the soldiers who found themselves engulfed in flames. She trained her next arrow on the man who had been urinating, now hurriedly trying to pull his pants back up and secure them while trying to locate their attacker. A moment later, the man lay upon his back, an arrow in his heart, his blood pooling beneath him. 

Below, she saw Galmar and the others rushing in, the sounds of steel against steel echoing loudly against the ancient walls. She secured her bow and sprinted down the walkway she was on, making her way to her companions. As she had expected, Galmar and the others took care of the remaining soldiers and were finding their way through the passageways. At one junction, she heard the shaky voice of a female Stormcloak, “What in the nine holds is that?” 

Meliandra answered, “Draugr, the accursed dead that still lives. Haven’t you ever seen one before?” 

Her voice quivered as she stared at the dead body sprawled across the floor. “No. And I’m not sure I’m better off for it now neither.” 

Meliandra chuckled as Galmar made his way through the group. “Steady. A few dusty bonewalkers aren’t going to stop us anymore than the Imperials could.” He pushed forward and entered another passageway. “We’re not leaving until we get what we came for.” 

Soon, they encountered more Imperial soldiers and before long, the floors were splattered with blood and fallen bodies. Meliandra smiled as the Imperial body count added up, her laugh echoing off the ancient walls making soldiers on both sides, nervous. 

Galmar entered a passageway and his demeanor became more positive. “Ah! The Hall of Stories… we must be getting close now.” 

“Oh,” came a gruff, masculine voice, “I’ve heard of this. They say these walls show the history of the ancients who built this place.” 

“Too bad we can’t read these carvings. Who knows what secrets we’d uncover.” 

Meliandra listened to the Nords speak of their legends as she looked at the carvings upon the walls, feeling out of place. A glimmer caught her eye; she bent down and picked up a claw, much like the claw she had taken off the Dunmer at Bleak Falls Barrow. She noticed the emblems on the back of the claw and began turning the rings. Sliding the talons of the claw into the holes of the center, she turned the center piece, releasing the locking mechanism and spinning the rings around, opening the large door. 

She could almost hear Galmar’s smile on his face as he said, “Alright, everyone! Keep your guard up. No telling what we’ll find down here.” 

Soldiers picked up their pace as they ran through the now revealed chamber, crossing a threshold that the Imperials had failed to cross, putting the Jagged Crown, if it truly existed, squarely in their hands. They found themselves in a large, locked chamber, seemingly with no way out. “Come on boys,” echoed Galmar’s voice against the walls. “Let’s spread out and see what we’ve got.” His eyes met hers, hard and cold. “Meliandra, do what you do best.” He laughed half-heartedly. “See if you can find some way to get that gate open.” 

She nodded and looked around; upon seeing a pathway, she followed it into the darkness. Casting a candlelight spell, she looked around, finding a couple gold coins and some jewelry. She slipped them into her hip satchel and continued on. Seeing a pull lever on the wall, she pulled it and was rewarded with the sound of the gate creaking open. 

“That’s done it!” Galmar hollered. “Alright, boys, let’s get moving. We’ve got more-“ Suddenly the sound of sarcophagi breaking open filled the place, draugr stepping out, their eerie eyes reanimated and searching. “Steady now!” the general shouted firmly. “They may be uglier than Imperials, but they’ll go down just the same.”   
Meliandra cast a fireball at one of the walking corpses, slamming the creature against the wall, the glow in it’s eyes ebbing to nothing. She turned to see one of the undead approaching Galmar, an ancient Nord battleaxe in its raised arms, ready to strike the right-hand man of the jarl. She cast an ice spike at the creature, stumbling it backward a few steps. Galmar turned to see the draugr and immediately swung his own weapon squarely through the midsection, slicing the thing in half. 

In a few moments, the skirmish was finished, and they continued through the now opened gate. As she walked next to Galmar, he said to her, “Let’s hope that’s the last of them.” 

She laughed as she looked at him. “You know as well as I do that there’s more to come.” 

They walked through a doorway to find themselves in an inner chamber filled with sarcophagi. In the distance Meliandra saw the corpse leaning off to the side, a crown upon it’s skull. She cast a spell and two swords appeared, one in each hand, and walked toward the focal point of the room. She heard Galmar behind her, he had noticed her fixation and followed, his battleaxe in his hands. She heard his sharp intake of breath then whisper, “Shor’s Balls, the Jagged Crown.” She was steps away when sarcophagi started to break open around them. She glanced at the general and said, “I told you there was more to come.” 

The sounds of battle echoed off the walls as she found herself in one on one combat with a draugr armed with a battleaxe, preventing her from nearing the Jagged Crown wearing corpse. As she swung her swords at vulnerable spots, she found herself tempted to Shout at the draugr before her but knew that to do so would bring unwanted attention to herself. She finally brought the undead warrior to its knees as she delivered the blowing strike, dropping the body to the floor. At that moment, the crown wearing corpse stood. 

“Yup,” she breathed under breath. “I knew that was going to happen.” 

The thing laughed at her. She rushed it. It Shouted her back against a wall. As she stood up, it pointed at her, taunting her in the ancient tongue it spoke. She snarled at it as she walked back toward the dead creature, recasting her sword spells. “You’re going to have to do better than that, you pile of dust and bones.” 

Galmar watched the Breton in astonishment. She fought with a vigor he hadn’t seen in non-Nords before; this took him by surprise to see, this Breton thief fighting for something for a cause she wanted nothing to do with. He saw that she was skilled with her swords, though he detested the magic used to create them. 

Gripping his battleaxe firmly, he joined the assault against the dead. His weapon crashed hard against the back of one of the raised warriors, he quickly brought the two-handed axe down atop its head, the light in its eyes dimming into nothingness. Upon hearing a maniacal laugh, he looked in time to see Meliandra thrusting her phantasmal swords upwards through the creature’s abdomen, lifting the towering corpse off the ground and above her. The glint in her eyes stopped him in his tracks; it was more than bloodlust that rages fiercely in her eyes, it was something he had never seen in all his years as a soldier. 

He watched as she pulled her swords out, dropping the corpse to the ground and then cancelled her spell. She reached down and removed the crown, then turned to face him, a smirk on her face. “Good,” he said. “Get to Windhelm with the crown as quick as you can. We’ll stick around here for a while and see if we can find anything else useful. “She nodded and turned to leave; he watched as she walked out of his sight before turning around and shouting orders to the men.


	11. Burying the Pain

He sat on a chair in the darkened corner, his gaze locked upon the bed in the middle of the room that had been designated as the Guild Master’s. While Meliandra hadn’t been here in months, he recently spent most of his nights in the very chair he sat upon now, a bottle of mead in his hand, wishing he could turn back the hands of time, back to the time when the Breton looked at him with adoration rather the strained look he had seen in her eyes the last time they had met his. He knew something had changed between them forever when she had walked in on him and Vex, but he had not realized just what had changed and why. But now, after the unexpected visit he had been paid, now he started to realize the depth of her pain and that drove him to hide his pain in the bottle for he knew no other way to numb the ache in the pit of his very being…..


	12. Flirtations

Blondish brown hair flew into his face as the numbing wind whipped around the bastions along the curtain wall; he turned his head as he made his way towards the shelter of the bastion just steps in front of him, blocking the wind by raising his arm, the cloak he wore, shielding his face. It was then that he heard a sound he had only heard over a year ago but haunted his dreams, a screeching accompanied with a stream of flame as a vast shadow passed overhead just beyond the city walls. The monstrosity of a beast scorched a path through the snow its fire breath touched. He caught sight of one of his captains and hollered at him, ordering him to muster the men to fight the attacking dragon. He turned to see the dragon fly just beyond the ridge of the mountains toward Kynesgrove, flames erupting from its maws once more upon the land. He saw fireballs shooting into the sky trying to hit the dragon, but they seemed to do no damage to the beast. 

As the memory of burnt flesh flooded him and the fear of his city looing like Helgen overcame him, a Shout echoed from the battle beyond. He rushed to the wall, hoping he’d see where the Shout came from. The Dragonborn was just on the other side of that ridge and Ulfric’s blood raced. Seeing his men below, he hollered to them, “Bring me the Dragonborn!” 

Whether his men heard him, he did not know, but they rushed across the bridge, weapons drawn. He watched with trepidation as his troops disappeared from his sight, images from Helgen forcing their way to the front of his memory. Helpless, he watched the sky as the dragon flew into his line of sight again, fireballs streaking to their target, arrows finding their way to the soft underside of the monstrosity. 

After minutes that stretched on into what seemed like an eternity, he watched as the dragon, bloodied and burned, crashed into the ground below with such force, he could feel the quaking of the ground from high on the curtain wall. Anxiously, he waited for any sign of his men but began to fear the worst when he saw no one returning. He hung his head and turned around, heading back to the palace. 

# 

“Holy shit!” Stenvar shouted. “You’re the Dragonborn!” 

Meliandra glared at him and through clenched teeth, growled, “Shut up. Now.” 

The Nord stared at her in confusion. “Why? This is great!” 

She quickly advanced on him, her knife against his throat before he had a chance to react. “If you breathe a word of this, an inkling of this, I will end your life with no hesitation. Do you understand me?” 

He nodded slightly, ever aware of the pressure against his neck. “Yeah. I understand. Not a word.” 

She held the knife in place for a moment longer, then stepped back, dropping her hand to her side, the knife seemingly disappearing somewhere in her movements. “Good,” she said with a hardness to her voice. Glancing to the hill behind her, she looked at the bodies of the Windhelm guards that had fallen in the battle. “These men deserve a proper burial; when we get to Windhelm, I’ll notify Ulfric and you can help with the recovery and burial.”  
And without waiting for acknowledgement, she began walking toward the city. 

#

She found Ulfric in his war room, pacing with a look of worry on his face. She held the Jagged Crown in her hand as she caught his attention saying, “Hail to the King.” 

He turned to see her in the doorway and a smile touched his worried countenance. “You did it; you found the Crown.” 

“Did you doubt me?” she asked him as he approached her. 

He took the Crown from her, admiring it as he did so. “No, not doubt. Just still determining where your loyalties lie.” 

“Where my loyalties lie? I could have brought the Crown to Tullius; I’m sure he’d be equally pleased to have it.” 

Without hesitation, he grabbed her by the throat forcefully, glaring into her eyes. “Watch your tongue or I’ll have it ripped out of your head.” 

She licked her lips slightly as a smile played on them. “Ooooo,” she said in a sultry voice, “threaten me with a good time.” 

Ulfric groaned internally as he fought the urge to kiss those lips that taunted him. His eyes looked over her body, the lust in his eyes barely hidden by the heat of his irritation. “Why do you insist on tormenting me, Meliandra?” 

“Someone has to,” she responded with a smile. 

He leaned forward, his lips grazing her cheek as he released his hold on her. “I will not take what is not offered to me, but you test my resolve, Breton. Tread carefully.” 

She watched as he stepped away, turning from her. Her eyes traced his image into her memory, knowing that by doing so she was giving in just a little bit more to her own attraction to the jarl, regardless of how dangerous she knew that attraction to be. She took a breath and, changing the subject, stated, “I came across dead Stormcloaks outside the city.” 

He turned back around to her, his eyes shadowed. “Yes, I assumed they had perished by the dragon attack.” 

“My man is in the Hall; he’s agreed to bring men to the bodies so they can be returned to their families for a proper burial.” 

He nodded. “I’ll have a group of men meet with your man to go retrieve the bodies.” He walked toward the door leading to the palace wing his chambers were found, then looked back at the Breton. “Will you be staying?” 

“Are you in further need of my assistance?” 

He paused for a moment, looked directly at her, and said, “Right now, no. I am not.” He gave a slight shrug as an impish smile touched his lips as he continued, “But that does not mean that I do not want you here.” 

She sighed. “I can stay for a night, but I must report back to the Brotherhood.” 

He nodded. “Very good. I will see that Jorleif sees to your needs before you leave. Until the evening meal, then,” he responded before exiting. 

# 

She sat in the corner of Candlehearth listening to the elven bard sing ballads of Nord heroes and thought of the irony, a Dunmer singing the glories of the people who would eradicate her people from the land. She drank heavily, not wanting to return to the Palace, but rather wanting to return to the Sanctuary outside of Falkreath. She had no interest in the war, she had no desire to find herself under the headman’s axe again, despite her excursions into Imperial camps and the killing of her lovers. She knew that one day she would be caught and forced to face the consequences of her crimes, but first she was determined to bring to ruin those who had brought ruin upon her. 

“Your kind aren’t wanted here!” came a loud, boisterous voice from the other side of the room. 

Her eyes narrowed as she scanned the room for the disrupter. It didn’t take but a moment for the man called out again, saying once more that elves were not wanted in Windhelm. She recognized the man at once and called out, “Crawl back into your mug and leave the woman alone.” 

The man stood up, unsteady on his feet, but that didn’t stop him from hollering out, “What’s it to you? You some kind of elf lover?” 

She stood up. “I don’t like your attitude.” 

“And I don’t like elf lovers, so what you going to do about it?” 

She smiled. “We can take this outside if you’d like.” 

“Bitch, you’re on.” 

Patrons hurried outside to watch the two fight. Meliandra quickly had the best of her opponent, using her short stature to her advantage, making his inebriated state his biggest disadvantage. He swung wildly at her, barely connecting with his fists as she side-stepped them. She laughed at him as he yelled at her to stand still and fight. She threw a couple of weak jabs at him, bringing forth drunken taunts of superiority from the man. Allowing him to get a few good hits in on her, she decided she was done toying with him. 

Suddenly, she swung hard with her right fist, connecting with the side of the man’s head. As she drew her fist back, her left came up from below, landing hard in his side. The man started throwing punches back at her, realizing he had been played. She put space between them as she quickly backed away from his wild, angry punches. Seeing an opening, she launched herself back at him, raining down a barrage of uppercuts and jabs to the face. She saw his eyes roll back into his head, his body dropping as she landed one last punch to his jaw, snapping his eyes back open as he fell to the ground, shaken. Blood dripped from his mouth and his head from where she had hit so hard; his eye was already swelling and turning shades of blue. He tried getting to his feet but fell once more. 

“You whore!” he yelled. “You’ll pay for this! Do you know who I am?!” 

“I know exactly who you are, Rolff Stone-Fist, and I don’t give a skeever’s ass who your brother is.” She walked up on him, placing her foot upon his chest and staring him down. “If I find out you’re harassing the elves again, we can have a littler rematch of this. And we will do this as many times as needed until you start showing some fucking respect.” 

She walked back to the Palace of the Kings, dreading the evening meal that she knew would be starting very soon. 

# 

Ulfric drank from his tankard as he listened to Galmar who had returned just hours after Meliandra argue with Yrsarald about a recent skirmish and the conflicting reports that had come back about it. The two men had known each other as long as he had known them and that was the majority of his life, save for the years he had spent in High Hrothgar; if the two did not argue about something, he would be worried. He was about to say something when he saw Meliandra enter from the war room. She had changed from her traveling clothes to a fine dress made of a crushed velvet, dyed as blue as the ocean. Adorning her neck was a ruby necklace made of gold with hints of silver. Across her shoulders she wore a wrap made of spotted snow sabre cat held together with a golden clasp. He watched as she made her way to the table, sitting in the chair to his right. “Good evening, Meliandra,” he greeted as he poured mead into a goblet and then handed it to the Breton. 

“Sir,” she answered as she accepted the drink from him. 

“I wasn’t sure if you would be joining us or not.” 

She chuckled. “The free food and mead is what brought me here.” 

He laughed. “That wouldn’t surprise me. I can only assume what you are forced to eat constantly on the roads.” 

“Oh, come now, Ulfric, it’s not all that bad. And it’s not like I don’t know how to cook myself.” 

“you? You know how to cook?” 

She smiled. “Yes, it is one of the things my mother taught me before she died.” 

“So, you were raised by your father then?” 

She looked at her goblet, a shadowed look coming over her. “No, he was no longer in my life by that time.” She cleared her throat before taking a long drink of her mead, nearly draining her cup. She looked at him. 

“So, tell me, Ulfric,” she said softly as she leaned slightly toward the table, “what are your plans as High King?” 

#

Galmar watched Ulfric and the Breton thief as they spoke for the duration of the evening meal; they seemed oblivious to the goings on around them and that disturbed him. He excused himself for the evening but his thought remained on the attraction the jarl had for this woman. He trusted his instincts and she did not sit well with them in any way. She was hiding something, he was sure of it and h was bound and determined to find out exactly what that something was.


	13. The Promise

Ulfric sat in his personal study reviewing reports that had come in earlier in the day but he had been preoccupied with random thoughts of the Breton thief who now lay in a bed down the passageway in the chambers he had started considering hers. And he was distracted by the images of her in his head hours after he had bid her good night at the end of the evening meal. He set a report back on the stack with the others again when he had realized that he had barely read the words before him. He ran his hand over his face as he stared into the fire, his conversation with Meliandra replaying in his mind. She was skilled in turning conversation away from subjects she did not wish to engage in, having deflected his many attempts to learn of her youth and how she had found herself in the back of the wagon headed to the headsman’s black. He found it alluring, the secrecy she kept around her like a shroud, yet, at the same time, he saw it as a red flag and that he must proceed with caution.

He picked up his tankard and filled it with mead and took a large drink of it as his mind traced her image before him, her lithe body sauntering toward him, his name dripping off her tongue like honey from a comb. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath and counted to ten, then opened his eyes, picked up the report and began reading again.

Across the passageway, Meliandra laid wide awake in bed, staring at the ceiling above, listening to the crackling embers of the hearth fire as a snowstorm raged outside. She thought about her Dunmer lover Gabriella; she loved the woman, but was not in love with her. And Arnbjorn, she enjoyed sex with the werewolf but he held no claim to her heart. Brnjolf’s smile, floated to the top of her memory, his voice echoed in her ears; a pang of hurt clutched her chest as she forced his image from her mind.

Suddenly, she threw the furs off of her and reached for the warm thick cloak on the chair near her bed and wrapped herself in it as she made her way out of her chambers. She had no destination in mind, only the need to outrun the pained feelings she still carried for the Nord thief. She blindly walked through the well-lit passages, her memories clouding her vision. Her conflicting feelings over the Windhelm jarl crept into her thoughts and soon she was remembering the kiss they had shared, short but full of hunger. She had felt hunger like that before and craved the passion she knew made up that hunger.

But it was Ulfric Stormcloak who aroused that craving within her. It was a man who would hate her if he knew her truths that distracted her from the ache of Brynjolf’s betrayal. And she couldn’t help but feel a strong pull to this jarl, no matter how dangerous of a man he was.

#

Ulfric rubbed his closed eyes as he set the report on his desk, a deep sigh escaping his lips as he gave up trying to read these reports at all this night. His thoughts refused to give up the image of the Breton, blurring the words before him until all he saw was the thief. Asking her to remain in his city was tormenting him. He looked at the door in his study that led to the passage to her chambers, a passageway that connected his childhood chambers to these chambers he lived in now, chambers that once belonged to his parents, the passageway that his mother used in caring for him as a babe rather than making use of a nanny or a wet-nurse. He was tempted to journey down the old passageway to gaze upon her once more as he had done before, but this time he resisted the urge.

He got the distinct feeling he had eyes watching him and, turning to look at the door, he saw Meliandra approaching him quietly, her eyes meeting his. She stopped directly in front of him, a slight hesitation to her as he opened her mouth to speak, then stopping, closing her mouth and glancing away.

“Meliandra?” he asked, “is everything alright?”

She let her cloak fall to the floor at her feet in response.

He sat in silence for a moment, the naked form in front of him making him lose his tongue as he gazed at the Breton approaching him. “Melian-” he began only to be silenced by her lips pressing against his. Stunned for but a moment, he kissed her fully as he stood up, his hand finding the small of her back and pulling her to him. His free hand found its way through her hair as he deepened the kiss, his tongue slipping past her lips and intertwining with hers. The kiss possessed him, threatening to drown him in the pent up frustrations they both shared.

He broke the kiss, his breathing heavy. He cupped her face with both hands and looked in her eyes. “Why must you persist in torturing me, my temptress?” he said hoarsely, his voice barely above a whisper.

She met his gaze, answering, “I’m offering myself to you.”

His eyebrow arched as he searched her face, his forefinger now tracing her jawline to her chin where his thumb then traced her lips softly. “offering yourself? Are you…sure you want this? You did say I was dangerous for you.”

She nodded. “If you’ll have me.”

He pulled her close to him again, drawing her into another kiss, his hunger for her consumed him as he lifted her up into his arms and carried her to his bed, laying her atop the thick furs. Backing away from the bed, but keeping his eyes upon her, he bolted the door to his rooms before removing the pants he wore, leaving nothing more than his braies. He approached the bed, eyeing the Breton. He ran his hand along the length of her leg, moved his hand to her stomach, palm down, skimming its way up to her chest, and through the divide of her breasts. He curled his fingers inward as he brushed them against her neck as he cupped her head in his hand, bending down to gently kiss her lips.

Climbing onto the ed next to her, he let his free hand roam over her body, rubbing it sensuously as he ran his lips down her neck. She leaned her head back, a soft moan slipping past her lips, her eyes closed. He felt himself growing harder as his passion built. Fingernails ran down his chest, stopping at the waist of his undergarment. He kissed her lips as he felt her fingers working loose the ties that held those undergarments up. Her touch was stimulating, making his desire grow more and once she had pushed his garments down his legs, he felt those fingernails resume their enticing touch as they found their way to his sex where her hands began giving him attention.

Neither spoke as they touched and explored one another, kissing one another with a slowly increasing fervor. He ran his hand along the scar along her lower abdomen, as she traced the many scars that crisscrossed his chest, his shoulders and onto his back. They recognized the wounds as battle scars of a personal level, both knew the stories behind how the scars came to be were stories kept under lock and key.

Ulfric re-positioned himself, resting his body just above her’s; his hardness resting atop her, making her acutely aware of his desire for her. He kissed her again, tasting her lips greedily before looking her in the eye and asked huskily, “This is what you want?”

At her nod, he leaned in to kiss her briefly before thrusting himself in her, filling her with the thickness that was his sex organ. She gasped as she felt him hit deep within her, her hips beginning to gyrate in time with him, her nails now scratching his chest, bringing blood to his skin.

Slowly, Ulfric made love to Meliandra, seeking only to please her first as he savored the very touch of her beneath him. Her lips caressed his chest every so often, her tongue flicking across his skin drawing pleasured sounds from the jarl. He leaned down, nuzzling his face against her neck as he placed light kisses upon her shoulder, working his way along her neckline to her jawline until her lips met his and gave way to the force of his kiss, laying claim to her, possessing her. She met his fervor with one of her own, inflaming both their passions explosively.

Meliandra’s body began to tremble as he drove her to the brink before her orgasm racked her body, her head thrust back as she rode the wave of her climax, her moaning coming to a crescendo. Ulfric thrust himself into the Breton, her juices sliding down his cock, lubricating his shaft as he pumped back and forth again, slowly bringing her to another orgasm that had her clawing at him as her body spasmed hard beneath him.

He felt his own orgasm approaching; he knew that he was past the point of no return, that there was no staving off his hunger anymore as he began to chase that elation that sexual release gave. He was vaguely aware that his temptress was orgasming once more, his name now rolling off her lips as she begged for him to give her his release, hard and fast. He felt her fingernails tearing into his flesh as she grabbed a hold of him in a frenzy, triggering his climax.

He thrust himself inside her once more and, holding himself above her, his member twitching inside her as he exploded into her, flooding her womb with his seed. With his release, he looked into her eyes as he drew close to her, his lips brushing hers softly, tenderly before saying, “I promise I won’t hurt you, my temptress.”

A slight smile appeared on her lips as she kissed him then looked in his eyes, responding, “And if I made that promise, it’d be a lie. I will hurt you, Ulfric, that is my promise to you.”


	14. Foreboding

“What is it about her that has you captivated by her?” Astrid asked angrily. 

Gabriella sighed as she watched the woman stalking around the room, her anger and jealousy radiating through her words. The Dunmer had grown tired of the jealousy long ago and had done her best to avoid any conversation about Meliandra with her former lover. “Why do you continue on about Meliandra, Astrid?” she asked. “To keep doing so will not make things return to the way they were before her arrival.” 

“I wish I had just killed that whore,” the blonde snapped suddenly. 

“Watch your words.” 

“Or what?”

Gabriella turned and walked to the door, shaking her head slightly. “Astrid, allow me to speak as an old friend… and listen well to the words I say.” She paused a moment then said, “The woman I met and fell in love with over a decade ago was someone confident in who they were and the people around them. But something happened to that woman and she turned bitter and cold, trusting no one, not even herself. Take care, Astrid, for the road you travel is one that will only lead to isolation and death.” 

Astrid stared at the Dunmer as she calmly exited, shutting the door behind her. 

# 

The sound of a sharp rap on his door with his name being called out woke him up. Opening his eyes, he smiled as he saw Meliandra asleep next to him, her naked body stretched alongside his. He got out of bed, pulled the bed furs over Meliandra’s nakedness, picked up his cloak, and went to open the door before Galmar’s voice awoke the sleeping Breton. Unbolting the door, he let his general in and as he headed toward his study, instructing the man to shut the door. 

Galmar looked at him quizzically as he shut the door, noting the jarl’s lack of attire and the form of a sleeping woman beneath the furs on Ulfric’s bed. He smiled, a chuckle escaping his lips as he said, “Wild night?” 

“You might say that.” 

“As long as it gets your mind off that Breton girl, I’ve got no complaints.” 

Ulfric paused, glanced at the bed, then back at Galmar, his eyebrow arched, a hint of a smirk hiding on his lips. “Then perhaps you should keep your complaints to yourself.” 

Galmar stopped and looked back at the bed, seeing Meliandra’s face clearly this time nestled beneath the furs. His face became angry and he turned to the jarl once more. “You fucked her?” He paused then continued, “Obviously you fucked her. But why? By your own words you do not trust her.” 

“I need not explain myself to you, Galmar.” 

The general bristled. “Have you taken leave of your senses, Ulfric?” 

“Have you?” the jarl countered, the irritation in his voice becoming noticeable. 

“What do you really know about this girl?” he demanded pointedly. 

Ulfric cast a withering look at his friend. 

“You know I’m right, Ulfric.” 

“I know you overstep your place.” He sat at his desk and looked at him. “What brings you to my chambers this morning?” 

“I was going to talk to you about our next move, but I think I’m going to wait until we can speak privately.” 

Ulfric nodded. “that would be best. Meliandra will be leaving for Falkreath later today’ we will discuss what lays before us tonight.” He glanced at the bed beyond the door to his study and thought briefly about the woman who lay asleep in it, wondering what exactly had brought her to him last night; he looked back at his general. “Your…concerns are noted, old friend.” 

“Hmph. Just make sure you’re not thinking with your dick, Ulfric. That girl is nothing but trouble; it’s written all over her face.” 

“You are dismissed, Galmar,” Ulfric snapped shortly, his eyes going cold as he stared at his friend. He waited until he heard the door open and shut again before he got up and walked back to the bed. Meliandra hadn’t moved during the time he had been out of bed; he removed his cloak and crawled back into bed, pulling the Breton close to him as he kissed the area of her neck that met her shoulder. Soon she was making pleasured sounds as sleep lifted from her, bringing a smile to his face. “Good morning, my Temptress,” he murmured against her skin, his lips lightly caressing her skin. “I trust you slept well?” 

Her answer was to turn her head, meeting his gaze as she leaned up to kiss him, pressing her lips firmly against his. She turned her body into his, his hands running up her arms as he returned her kiss. She felt his desire stirring against her, the intensity of his kiss growing as his hands found their way to her face, cupping it as his kiss deepened. 

Throwing her leg over his waist, she brought herself atop of him, a smirk upon her face as she said, “Morning.” 

He looked at her above him, his eyes taking in every detail of her, the trim physique of her body, the definition of her muscle tone, the scars that were evidence to the battles she had fought and won. She ran her fingernails down his chest, a sparkle of mischief in her eyes. He went to lean up toward her, but she set her palm against his chest and pushed back, a smirk on her face as she leaned over, pressing her lips against his. He held her head, her hair entwining in his fingers as he returned the kiss, the passion building inside of him against as it did the previous night. She began gyrating her groin atop of him, slowly, seductively, making him grow hard against her.

He groaned, wanting her, craving her, needing to have her envelop him once again. His hands found their way to her thighs, gripping them as she rubbed herself on his groin. “Even now you must tease me?”

She smiled as she leaned down, placing soft kisses upon his chest, murmuring, “Of course; teasing is only the beginning of pleasure.” Readjusting herself slightly, she shifted her weight back and felt Ulfric’s shaft slip comfortably deep inside her, eliciting pleasured moans from both of them as she began rocking herself back and forth, eyes closed and biting her lip. 

The jarl’s hands traveled up her waist finding their way to her firm breasts where he began massaging them, roughly, tweaking her nipples into stiff perks before raising himself enough to wrap his arms around her, cupping her breasts with his mouth, suckling them as if a hungry babe. He felt her hands combing through his hair, her moaning, lustfully, as his ears picked up his name being uttered over and over; he found his arousal was becoming more and more demanding as he felt the build up intensifying. 

He pulled her closer to him and brought her lips to his, crushing them with the hunger he felt deep within himself. “Meliandra,” he growled thickly, “his breath coming in short bursts, “you must quench this fire.” 

In response, the Breton changed the tempo of her movements, increasing it until she had worked herself into a heated frenzy until finally she cried out as her orgasm spread through her body, his name once more being called out. 

Ulfric’s own orgasm began as hers came to its end, his hands gripping her thighs tight as he flooded her womb with his seed. He reached up, cupping the back of her head with his hand and drew her close to him, kissing her deeply. “Good morning, my Temptress,” he said thickly. 

Smiling, she responded, “Ulfric” and then began to get out of bed. 

He reached toward her, his fingers grazing her arm. “Running away, already?” 

She glanced back at him as she walked to his study where her dropped cloak lay. “Running away?” A chuckle escaped her lips. “Haven’t you proven to me that running is futile? 

It’s not like I can hide; you know that eventually I’ll be in Falkreath or Riften. You’ll find me.” 

“Will I have to?” he asked. 

“Find me?” She shook her head, picking up her cloak and draping it around her shoulder, clasping it with a golden brooch. “No, you won’t. I’ll be coming back.” Thinking of Amaund Motierre and the job he was paying for, she smiled and continued, “I have a feeling you are going to be seeing a whole lot more of me.”


	15. Flaring Tempers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meliandra's return to the Sanctuary causes a disturbance within the Brotherhood.

Stenvar packed the last of the camp Meliandra had made the night before after they had removed the bandits that had previously occupied the tower to the east of Whiterun. Meliandra had woken early and had caught some salmon that she had roasted over a fire and after pulling out a loaf of bread and a chunk of hard cheese from her pack, and had began to eat, waiting for him to wake. Once he had woken, she instructed him to gather their belongings after eating so they could continue to the Sanctuary outside of Falkreath; she wanted to get there to await new instructions as quickly as possible. Soon, he was closing the pack he carried and hitched it upon his shoulder and followed the Breton out into the morning sun. 

They walked in silence; he could see that shed still carried the appearance of someone in deep contemplation despite her attempts to distract herself with random conversation. Every so often he’d see her looking toward the Throat of the World, where the Greybeards made their home in the monastery of High Hrothgar. He knew that the Greybeards had called for the Dragonborn, had called for her, but she had yet to answer them; she still had yet to completely accept the role fate had cast her in. He knew better than to try and talk to her about it, though every fiber in his Nord body told him he needed to. 

A group of Imperial soldiers were making their way down the road, immersed in discussion. Meliandra noticed them before they noticed her and drew the hood of her cloak further down her head, obscuring her face from view. As they drew close, Stenvar could see a couple of the men pointing toward her and beginning to walk toward them when he saw a small coin purse slip out of her hand, gold coins glinting in the sun through a hole too small for them to fall through. The men held back and waited for Meliandra and Stenvar to pass. Upon glancing behind them, the Nord saw the soldiers opening the coin purse, greedily looking inside at its contents. 

“I do not need the annoyance of soldiers asking questions,” she stated matter-of-factly. “Losing some gold to keep them away is well spent coin.” 

He nodded in understanding but said nothing as they continued walking. 

“Looks like a blackbird pecked off your nose; what’s wrong, Stenvar?” 

He shook his head, a smile on his face as he imagined the imagery of her words. “Actually, Meliandra, I’ve been trying to figure out if you’re a Stormcloak. Rumor at the inn is that you have Ulfric’s ear and are at his beck and call.” 

Uncomfortable silence ensued for a moment and when she answered, her words were measured and void of any sign of emotion. “Truth be told, he has my ear more than me having his and being at his beck and call…” She paused then continued, “I am in his employ; when he requires my services, he sends word.” 

“What does he ask of you?” 

She glanced at him, her green eyes piercing him. “What he asks of me is of no concern to you.” Again, she paused before asking, “Why the questions?” 

“Because I’d like to know if I’m going to be branded a rebel by association.”

After another moment of silence, Meliandra stated plainly, “It suits me to be in his employ, regardless if it is helping the rebels.” 

“It suits you?” he repeated. “That’s all fine and dandy, but allegiance to the Stormcloaks while escaping across Skyrim is walking a fine line. One day you’re going to find out just how sharp of a double-edged sword that fine line is.” 

She turned on him, her eyes blazing in anger as she turned on him, her eyes blazing in anger as she said gruffly. “I pay you for your blade at my side, not for your opinion.” And with that, she pivoted on her heel and stalked off. 

# 

Astrid looked at the bed, staring at the naked, spread-eagle form of her Lycan husband. Her eyes traced the outline of muscles, how firm they were and how well-defined they were, his chest and abdomen down below his waist where his hair turned dark and wiry. Her eyes continued trailing down his body, noting how defined the muscle there was; she was reminded of all the reasons she had become attracted to him all those years ago. But he had changed, she had changed, and she did not know if they would ever get back to where they once had been. 

She watched as he stirred in their bed, a content sound coming from him as his lips turned slightly upward, smiling in his dream state. A moan escaped his lips as she noticed he was now no longer flaccid. Her lips hinted at a smile as thought of the things that she did that made her husband react in such a primal way. 

Then she heard him say, ever so lustfully, the Breton Meliandra’s name. 

And it was at that exact moment that she heard Meliandra’s voice echoing through the chambers outside her doors. Her anger suddenly boiled over, erupting violently as she picked up a large book and threw it at her husband, promptly waking him up, startled and growling. 

“What the fuck?” he snapped as he pi8cked up the book and threw it across the room, crashing it into a jar on the table and shattering it into pieces. 

“Even in your sleep you dream of that skank!” Astrid yelled. 

“So now we fight because of what’s in my dreams?” he roared as he got his pants and began to dress. 

“That wench couldn’t have been here long before you picked up her scent!” 

“You’re being unreasonable, Astrid,” he grumbled as he made his way toward the door of their shared room. 

She stepped in his way. “I’m being unreasonable? She comes in here and takes everything that we worked for from us – “ 

“From us?” he snarled. “Don’t you mean from you? That is if she took anything at all!” 

“If she took anything at all? She’s taken everything! I should be the one doing Babette’s biding! I’ve been loyal to the family longer than most everyone here and unquestionably longer than that Breton upstart!” 

He shook his head as he pushed past his wife. “Your jealousy is blinding you, wife, and it will lead you down a dangerous road if you do not pay attention to it.” 

# 

The room was dark, only a few sconces dimly lighting the chambers. The coffin stood on end in the corner, the red stained glass giving an eerie appearance to the room turned into a crypt. It was equally eerily quiet in the set of rooms given to the Night Mother and the keeper, with only the vampire child sitting at the table, pouring over tomes that Cicero had brought with him, learning more of the history of the Night Mother’s legacy. She had spent much of her time discussing things with the strange jester. But she grew worried with his gibberish, his talk of pretenders. She feared his mind broken from the time he had been alone in hiding, protecting the Night Mother. It was something she’d have to watch from afar until she could discern if any dangers existed. 

But until then, she needed to converse with her Breton agent and find out what Amaund Motierre wished for from the Dark Brotherhood; she also knew she needed to address the affair she was carrying on with Arnbjorn. The discord that came from this wanton affair between the two of them was becoming an issue for the family, one that was slowly ripping them apart. 

As if on cue, her vampiric senses alerted her to Meliandra’s approach. Ina moment’s time the short Breton entered the room and approached Babette. The undead child looked at her. Taking a moment to collect her thoughts, she began speaking evenly. “I have lived for over three hundred years, there is very little I have not seen. You are not fooling anyone, your dalliance with Arnbjorn is known to everyone. Normally one’s sex life is of no concern to the Brotherhood, but this is different. You are bringing discord to the family; this affair must stop before permanent damage is done to our family.” 

Meliandra nodded, her expression unreadable. “As you command, Listener.” 

Babette looked at the Breton for a moment, trying to decide if Meliandra would heed her words or defy her before saying, “What does our old friend Amaund ask of us?” 

She chuckled, a smirk touching her lips. She pulled the sealed letter and amulet out of her travel pouch and placed them before the vampire. “Motierre is a dastardly man, for sure. He wishes for us to assassinate the Emperor.” 

“The Emperor? To kill the Emperor of Tamriel… The Dark Brotherhood has not done such a thing since the murder of Uriel Septim, and that was two hundred years ago…” 

“So, we’re going to accept the contract?” 

Babette nodded. “Astrid and I will iron out the details. But, I need you to take this” she picked up the amulet and handed it to her “to have it appraised. I want to know where it came from, how much it’s worth, and if we can actually get away with selling it. Have Delvin Mallory take a look at it. Find out everything you can, and sell it if he’s willing. He’ll offer a letter of credit -that’s fine.” 

Meliandra took the amulet and exited the room, heading toward the exit. From the corner of her eye she saw Astrid watching her, a hateful look upon her face. She smiled as she passed the table the woman sat at and walked out of the Sanctuary into the blazing sun. 

As her eyes adjusted she saw Arnbjorn sitting upon a log by the water’s edge. The sight of the man excited her; she licked her lips as the image of him buried deep inside of her, fucking her like she was a bitch in heat floated to the front of her mind. Keeping Babette’s admonishment in mind, she began to walk in the other direction when she saw that the werewolf was watching her. Sighing to herself, she walked toward him. 

His eyes devoured her; her scent was heavy in the air and it was thick with her highly charged pheromones. His growl was thick with his own lust, her name rumbling off his lips. “Come to tempt me again?” 

“It’s not my fault that you’re weak for me.” 

“Why can’t you leave me be? Do you enjoy causing me so many problems?” 

“Arn,” she purred, “do you really want me to leave you alone? Don’t you crave the attention I give you?” 

“I desire my wife!” he roared. 

She laughed. “The wife who refuses to spread her legs for you. The wife who fucked your friend in your bed while you were on assignment.” Her voice turned acidic. “She treats you like nothing but a lap dog and you keep begging for her to pay attention to you.” 

“Are you expecting me to come running to you?” he roared. “I will not leave my wife. It is her that I love and will remain with for the rest of my life!” 

“You think that’s what I want?” She smiled broadly, the laughter showing in her eyes. “You’re nothing more than a fuck, Arnbjorn, someone to satisfy my need for dick. I don’t want you for myself, I just want your dick.” 

He stood up, glaring at her. “You’re nothing but a whore.” 

Her face remained impassive, but her eyes narrowed. “And you were more than wiling to bend me over and shove your cock into this whore.” 

An angry growl escaped his lips as he shifted into wolf form and disappeared into the thick of the woods.


	16. An Unexpected Visitor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The events in this chapter are a memory.

… _The Flagon was empty, most everyone had already retired for the night. Brynjolf sat at a table looking toward the bar but seeing nothing in particular. He was getting used to not seeing Meliandra, having only brief letters addressed to the Guild in its entirety as proof that she still lived, but the emptiness he felt grew heavier each passing day._

_The sound of approaching footsteps drew his head to the sound while his hand went to the dagger on his hip. His eyes fell upon the stocky Nord with resentment then glanced beyond him. “Where is Meliandra?”_

_The man shrugged as he responded, “Who knows. Probably in some Imperial camp slaughtering Legion officers.”_

_“Excuse me?”_

_The man motioned to the chair next to him and said, “I’m gonna be here awhile; maybe I should sit down._ ”


	17. Surprise at Whiterun

The skies, grey and gloomy, opened up allowing raindrops to fall to the ground beneath as Meliandra and Stenvar walked into Whiterun.  The city was quiet, most people seemingly have decided to stay indoors to avoid the coming storm.  She made her way to Breezehome, her house that she had barely spent any time at.  One day she would have to make it a point to spend more than a day or two.

She opened the door and smelled the stew cooking over the kitchen fire followed by the scent of bread being baked in the oven.  Laughter from Lydia’s room filled the silence that otherwise filled the house.  “Lydia?” she called out.  “I’m back!”

“My Lady!” she heard before sounds of rushed movements and her housecarl’s bedroom door being flung open with a harried looking woman rushing out, her face flushed.

“Everything alright, Lydia?”

The Nord woman smiled, nodding as she said, “Yes, my Lady.  Just…startled.”  She began to straighten up the kitchen area, fidgeting with some of the foodstuffs in the pantry behind her.

Meliandra nodded then indicated Stenvar beside her and introduced him.   “I need to replenish supplies and wanted to drop off some things here.  How are the food stuffs?”

Lydia smiled as if laughing at a private joke as she glanced behind her, answering, “They could use some replenishing.”

“Okay, how much?”

Again, she smiled.  “It’d be best to replenish everything.”

“Did something happen?”

“No, not at all, my Lady.  I’ve just used more than expected.”  She shrugged slightly as she explained, “I’ve entertained a few guests in your absence.”

Meliandra opened her mouth then closed it and walked up the stairs to her room.  Stenvar looked around in the foyer outside her room as she opened the safe in her room, pulling out various bags of coins.  “Stenvar,” she called, “take this down to Lydia.”  Shaking her head, she muttered, “Going to have to have a talk with her about throwing parties on my gold.”

The man took the coin purses and walked back downstairs where Meliandra heard him giving her housecarl the money bags.  A loud rapping upon her door jolted her and brought her immediately to the stairwell.   She heard Hrongar, the jarl’s brother at the door asking where she was.

“She’s not here,” came Lydia’s annoyed voice.

“Don’t lie to me, Lydia,” Hrongar snapped.  “She was seen coming into town.  My brother wants to see her.”

“She went out for supplies.  I don’t know when she’ll be back.”

“I don’t care when she gets back.  You just tell her that the jarl wants her up at Dragonsreach.  Don’t make me come get her.”

Meliandra heard the door shut and began to descend the stairs.  She began to thank Lydia for the deflection when she noticed the bulge of her stomach and stopped short.  “You’re with child.”

Lydia nodded.  “I am.”

“The entertaining guests?”

She smiled.  “I’m ravenous.”

Meliandra chuckled.  “I suppose you are.”  She finished coming down the stairs.  “And who is the father?”

“I am.”

Meliandra turned at the familiar voice to see Vorstag standing at the door to Lydia’s room, wearing only a pair of loose trousers, his chest bare.  She looked back at Lydia then turned her attention to her former hired man.  “So, I dismiss you and you come impregnate my housecarl?”

“Oh yeah, Mel,” he said as he rolled his eyes, “that’s exactly what I had planned when you dismissed me.”  He walked toward Lydia, standing beside her and taking her hand in his.  “Look, I don’t care where you and I stand; I’m going to be here for Lydia and our child.”

“Yes, you are,” she agreed with a nod.  She turned to look at Stenvar, tossing him the coin purse she held in her hand.  “You know what we need; sell the things we agreed on.  I better go see what Balgruuf wants.”

#

The jarl’s chambers were dimmer than normal as Meliandra entered.  Proventus gave a slight nod as he shut the doors, leaving her there waiting for Balgruuf to enter.  She looked over the lavishly set table, her mouth watering at the sight of the aromatic roasted venison sitting in the middle, surrounded by loaves of bread and various roasted vegetables with goblets for the wine that filled the ewers on the table.

She heard him walk into the room before she saw him; she felt his breath on her neck before feeling his hands on her arms.  His lips grazed her skin as he welcomed her back to Whiterun, and more specifically, Dragonsreach.  “My darling,” he murmured, “I’ve missed you.”

Meliandra closed her eyes; his touch, while gentle, she knew could turn hard with no warning, his temper flaring on a whim.  She had worn the evidence of that temper before and she had sworn revenge, she merely had to bide her time.  She let him undress her, let him kiss her and fondle her intimately.  She let him guide her to his male member and obediently gave it the oral ministrations he desired, and when he could not contain himself, she drank of his seed, but knowing he was far from done with her.

With their meal growing cold, he took her to his bed, making her get onto her hands and knees, her ass sticking up where he begun to fingerfuck her, only his forefinger at first, then adding his middle finger shortly thereafter.  At her growing wetness, he thrust his cock inside of her and immediately held a fast pace rapidly bringing himself to orgasm, his seed filling her womb as he held her hips until his climax had ended.

He climbed out of bed, wrapped himself in a cloak, and said, “Shouldn’t let this food go to waste; let’s eat.”

#

The mid-day sun beat down on the two traveling companions as they made their way toward Riften; the horses they rode keeping a leisurely pace.  When Stenvar had inquired how she had managed to acquire two horses from the jarl’s personal stables, she had given a cold reply of “Guilty men are easily manipulated.”

He remained quiet for awhile as he thought about things then asked, “You’re sleeping with the jarl?”

She pursed her lips, measuring her words.  “Balgruuf sees a future with me; I use that to my advantage.”

“And he’s a guilty man because…?”

Her answer was short as she simply said, “He is not a nice man.”

“Uh-huh.”

They rode in silence again, Stenvar thinking of all that Meliandra had told him and things he had picked up on.  Things made little sense and he had a feeling that they were only going to get more confusing as time went on.  Turning slightly to ask his companion a question, he noticed she wore a blank expression upon her face, but her eyes betrayed the anguish in her soul.  Concerned, he asked, “What troubles you, Meliandra?”

“Troubles me?” she repeated.  “What makes you think something is troubling me?”

“Everything about you right now.”

She shook her head, saying, “You’re imagining things, Stenvar.”

He kept quiet but continued to watch her as she got more agitated as they got closer to Riften, shifting in her saddle often.  Finally, the Nord stopped his horse on the narrow path in front of her, saying, “You can either tell me again that I’m imagining things, or you can tell me what’s got your pants in a bunch but I’m not budging until you tell me what’s got you so perturbed.”

She arched her eyebrow as she stated flatly, “You do realize that I have no problem Shouting you out of my way, right?”  She stared at him, waiting for him to move and when she saw that he was not going to move, she snapped at him. “I do not pay you to get involved in my personal life.  Don’t forget that.”

“You know what?  I don’t give a skeever’s ass about your personal life.  But if your personal life might put my life into jeopardy, then I have every goddamn right to fucking know.  Now I’ve been watching you since we left Whiterun and the closer we get to Riften, the more edgy you get so something is rattling around in that pretty, little head of yours enough to fuck with you.  So, what the fuck are we headed into?  Is this going to be a friendly visit, or do I need to watch my back on top of yours since that’s what you pay me for?”

She stared at him long and hard relenting only when she realized his words were true and that she owed him an explanation.  “I have to pay a visit to someone in the Thieves Guild.”

“The Thieves Guild?”  he repeated, hesitation edging his voice.

A small smile appeared upon her lips as she said reassuringly, “Yes, I have a lot of dealings with the Guild.  I need to speak with a fence who handles specific items.”

“If everything is alright, why this anxiousness?”

She sighed and glanced away for a moment.  “Because I have a past with one of them; it’s complicated.”

“Ah,” he said in understanding.  “It’s complicated.  I’m starting to see that with you, lots of things are…complicated.  Especially where men are concerned.”

She spurred her horse into a trot and pushed by Stenvar as he pulled his horse back, giving her berth to pass. As she passed him, she looked him in the eye, glaring, and said, “Some wounds take longer to heal than others.”

She pushed her horse into a fast gait as they fell into silence as they continued making their way to the fishing town of Riften, home of the Thieves Guild.

#

Ralof trailed the Breton and the Nord from a distance, his orders from Ulfric being very specific about not being seen by the woman.  He had had to resort to stealing a horse from the Whiterun stables, having been surprised to see her and her companion riding out of town on horses kept separate from the rest of the townspeople’s.

The blond Nord sighed; he knew that Ulfric had bedded the Breton and had claimed her for himself.  Ralof had heard the talk amongst his fellow soldiers about the jarl having been heard bedding a woman the same morning he had seen Meliandra, scantily clad, leaving Ulfric’s bedchambers.  And then he had been ordered before the jarl and given direct orders to follow the Breton undetected but to insure her safe return, the words heavy as Ulfric told the soldier, “Anything happens to my… to Meliandra, I will hold you directly responsible.”

As he sighed once again at the thought of Ulfric claiming Meliandra as his.  In his mind’s eye, he could see the large, rounded breasts of the petite woman as they bounced up and down as he pounded his dick into the wetness between her legs.  He thought about how he’d grab her tits and squeeze them hard as he rubbed them roughly.  He thought about how he’d suck on her breasts, his tongue flicking across her nipples followed by playful biting.  He found his thoughts drifting to the image of her on all four before him, her naked ass cheeks would get as his hands left marks upon them from slapping them.  He thought about how it felt as he watched his cock slide into her as he had her on all fours in front of him.

He felt himself growing harder and beginning to throb against the fabric of his clothing; he swore, knowing he needed release.  He stopped his horse and dismounted; loosening his pants, he pulled his dick out of his pants and sat upon a nearby log and began to stroke himself, yanking on his member quickly.  He imagined the Breton on her knees in front of him, her lips wrapped around his sex organ as he fucked her mouth, her hair wrapped in his hands as he held her head firmly in place.  In his mind, he pictured her fingering her pussy as his dick slid in and out of her mouth, bringing herself to a dripping wet frenzy as he reached his own orgasm.  His seed ejaculated from his shaft onto the ground below, but in his impromptu fantasy, he was choking the woman with his cum as it spilled out of him and down her throat.  His orgasm rocked his body, both in his fantasy and in real life, making his body quiver and shake until he was spent.  After a moment, he tucked his cock back inside his pants, stood up, and climbed onto the back of the horse, setting out to catch up to Meliandra.


	18. Guild Business

The child, dirty and wearing ragged clothes, saw the Nord and Breton coming up the road, their horses at a slow gait. Seeing the raven hair, the child recognized the woman as the Guild Master and turned to scurry up the path to the gate, squeezing through before the guards saw him. A quick shout from another guard alerted him to the fact that he’d been spotted on the other side, but he heard no footsteps giving chase. Making his way through the wooden boardwalks of Riften, he sought out the man who promised him a good amount of gold if he brought news of Meliandra’s return. After searching the marketplace and not finding the redheaded Nord there, he went searching the Bee & Barb. It took a moment for the boy’s eyes to adjust to the darkness of the inn after being in the bright of day, then he made his way to the thief’s usual table, finding the Nord nursing an ale. 

“She’s here, sir,” he said with a toothless grin. 

Brynjolf looked at the sandy-blond haired urchin, the smile on the boy’s face reminding him of himself when he was the orphan trying to get in with the Guild, running errands for Gallus, proving his worth with the thieves. As he reached into the inner pockets of the fur cloak he wore this blustery day, he thanked the boy, giving him a few gold coins, enough to feed himself and buy the dagger he had been wanting from the blacksmith. 

Brynjolf watched the boy scurry off, a smile on his face. He drank the last of his drink, left a few gold pieces on the table and made his way out of the tavern. Not wanting to give Meliandra the chance to slip into town and sneak back out without him knowing, he had wet the street urchin’s appetite with promises of gold to open the boy’s eyes, knowing the youth yearned to join the Guild. The sound of his footsteps was muffled by the clanging of the metal striking metal as Balimund worked on a sword at his forge, the young lookout watching the Nord blacksmith working his craft, the look of excitement clear upon his face. 

The man smiled as he continued toward the graveyard, his thoughts on the days of his own youth, making himself known to the Guild Master of the time. He knew the bastard child would be a good thief, it was merely a matter of time before the Guild would recruit him within their ranks. 

He noticed once more the blooming of the flowers in the cemetery, a hint of their fragrant aroma filling the air. They had become a bittersweet reminder of all that had transpired for him in the past year, from his falling in love with the Breton, to losing her because of Mercer Frey’s manipulations. He had questioned his remaining in Riften, he had debated journeying to Raven Rock for an extended job, but he could not convince himself that that was what he needed to do. Somewhere deep inside, he held onto the belief that Meliandra would come home and return to him, starting a new chapter in their lives. 

With a grating that he was long accustomed to, the secret entrance to the Thieves Guild opened and he made his way in, pulling the chain on the wall as he passed it, bringing the false crypt above to a close just as he slipped down the ladder into the Cistern below. The chatter that greeted him was informative; since the return of the Skeleton Key, there had been less arrests, more profitable hauls, more successes all around than there had been before. Amongst the chatter of completed jobs, he began to hear Meliandra’s name being spoken by those who knew her and soon he learned by overhearing one thief that she was in the Flagon speaking to Delvin. 

His destination evident to those around, he found he had a clear path with no interruptions to the door leading into the Guild’s tavern, and with a deep breath, he walked in, his eyes finding his former lover sitting at a table on the platform beyond, deep in conversation with the older thief; he sat at a table, watching her, waiting.   
“So, Meliandra,” Delvin asked with a smile, “what brings you to see me?” 

She smiled back at him, “That obvious?” 

“I can see that you’ve got something on your mind and you beelined directly to me when you came in.” He leaned forward, almost in a conspiratorial tone, and asked, “What’s going on, Boss?”   
“I’m here on Dark Brotherhood business.” 

His eyebrow went up. “Oh.” He nodded. “I see.” He chuckled. “Well, you’re makin’ friends all over, ain’t ya? A slight hesitation followed before he continued, “So; uh… how is Astrid doing these days?”

It was Meliandra’s turn to arch her eyebrow. “Astrid and I do not see eye to eye.” 

“Uh,” he replied. “Well, tell her to stop by some time. We can have a… drink. Catch up.” At the Guild Master’s stare, he cleared his throat. “Ah, but business! Of course. What kind of business?” 

She pulled out her pouch and removed her fur pelt, unwrapping the amulet within and handed it to Delvin. “What can you tell me about this?” 

Taking the amulet in his hand, he looked it over, a low whistle slowly coming forth from his lips. “Where oh where did you get this?” He shook his head immediately and continued, “Don’t answer that – I don’t want to know.” 

Again, he cleared his throat. “This is an amulet of the Emperor’s Elder Council. Specially crafted for each member. Worth a small fortune. Ain’t somethin’ you’d give up lightly.” He looked at her sternly. “Look, it ain’t my business ta tell the Dark Brotherhood its business, but if you killed a member of the Elder Council, you’d better belie-“ 

“Will you buy it?” she interrupted. 

Delvin’s eyes widened. “Buy it? This? An Elder Council amulet?” He chuckled. “Oh yes. Oh yes, indeed. Wait just one moment.” He got a piece of paper and grabbed a quill and inkwell from close by and quickly wrote something before handing it to her. “Here. It’s a letter of credit. Usable, by Astrid only, for any service or item I can provide. As per our standard arrangement.” He smiled again. “You bring that back to your lovely mistress. With my regards.” 

She snickered and replied, “Of course.” She tucked the letter of credit into her pouch, stood up and bid the man goodnight before turning to walk out. She glanced down, as she walked away, the leather ties closed, and stopped short when she looked up directly into the face of Brynjolf. Her breath caught before a hint of a smile appeared on her lips. She had hoped to avoid seeing the thief, the pain of their separation still affecting her. “Brynjolf,” she said in greeting as she started to walk by him. 

He held his hand out, resting it on her forearm. “Meli,” he said softly, hesitantly. 

She glanced at his hand, then, as she continued to pass him, said, “Walk with me.” 

Nodding, he fell into step with her and they began to walk down the passageway to her room. “You look well,” he said after a moment. 

“As do you, but small talk does not suit you, Bryn. What’s on your mind?” 

He smiled. “No, it doesn’t.” He paused a moment then continued. “I’m worried about you, lass. There are rumors of a black widow moving through Imperial camps.” He watched her face and seeing no reaction, he sighed. “The rumors are true then?” 

She glanced at him briefly. “Do I need to answer that?” 

“Dammit, Meli.” He stopped in front of her door. “If the Imperials catch you, what do you think they’re going to do to you?” 

“I am well aware of what the Imperials do to rebels.” 

“We will not be able to go in and get you out.” 

A clouded look spread across her face as she stoically said, “If I were to be caught, I would expect you and every member of the Guild to deny any knowledge of me. But, I guarantee, I would not be on my own.” She rested her hands on his chest, looked him in the eyes, and said, “I’m fine. I will be fine.” 

“Meli –.“ He looked down into her eyes; immediately he felt himself falling again. Without thinking about it, he raised his hands and cupped her face, leaned down, and kissed her softly upon her lips. He heard the clicking of the door handle as she opened the door; he broke the kiss and looked at her. He saw the look in her eyes and his hunger grew. He stepped into her room and drew her close to him again. “Lass,” he murmured as he kissed her deeply, the sound of the door closing behind them. 

# 

Stenvar sat at the counter drinking a bottle of mead, uncomfortable in this particular tavern. Meliandra had given him enough gold to rent a room and buy food and drink and told him she would be back at the tavern after sunrise. While he would normally object to a separation like this, he did not like the idea of going into the domain of the Thieves Guild, no matter if it was on good terms or not. So, he sat here, drinking, listening to local gossip, and keeping an eye on the people around him. 

The Argonian bartender eyed him suspiciously as she wiped down the counter. “Haven’t seen you before,” she said pointedly. 

“Just passing through,” he responded. 

“Traveling alone?” 

He shook his head and asked, “Why?” 

She indicated the Imperial mage sitting in the corner engaged in conversation with a finely dressed woman. “Was hoping someone would hire this annoyance and take him out of town. Far out of town.” 

“Sorry, can’t help you there. I’m only a hired blade myself, my boss merely has some business to attend to here.” 

“Really? What kind of business?” she asked. 

He shrugged. “Meliandra didn’t say.” 

The Argonian stopped and looked at him. “Oh. You’re a thief.” 

He stared at her. “What? I am no such thing!” 

“If you’re with Meliandra, you’re a thief. Just like her.” 

“Listen here –“ he started to get up when he felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up to see the brunette woman smiling at him. 

“Keervara, you ought to learn how to keep that tongue of yours in check,” she snapped.

The Argonian sneered. “Are you telling me he’s not one of your people?” 

“That’s exactly what I’m saying.” She looked back at Stenvar. “Why don’t you come sit with me?” 

“I’m alright,” he responded before her grip on his shoulder tightened, making him wince. “What the-“ 

“It’s not a request.” She smiled ever broader. “Let’s go.” She led him to a table and told him to sit down then sat down next to him. “That lizard doesn’t know how to keep her mouth shut.” 

“Who are you?”

“The name’s Sapphire; I’m with the Guild.” 

Biting back his response, he demanded, “Is what she’s saying true? Is Meliandra a thief?” 

“Yes, Meliandra is a thief. But not just any thief.” She glanced around then said, “I need you to do me a favor, well, more like the Guild needs you to do a favor for us.”

He eyed her suspiciously. “What?” 

“Meliandra has gone rogue, she’s working on her own, and her associates are –“ 

“The Stormcloaks.” 

“Yes. We just need to know that she’s not pulling jobs that will put our guys in danger.” 

“That’s it?” 

“Yes. If she starts to jeopardize the Guild, let me know.” 

“What do I get out of this?” 

“Gold if you want. You keep me in the know on her dealings, I’ll make sure you get a fair amount of gold.” 

“And if I took the information to the Guild Master instead? What’s that information worth to them?” 

Sapphire’s eyes narrowed. “Absolutely nothing.” 

“So, it’s important to you, but not to the Guild Master?” He shook his head. “I’m not going to help you backstab a member of your Guild.” He stood up to leave, then stopped and looked at her. “What did you mean by saying she’s not just any thief?” 

Sapphire smiled. “She’s the Guild Master.”


	19. What Dreams May Come

They sat beneath the rowan tree, Meliandra and Brynjolf, his arms wrapped around her lovingly as he held her to his chest, her head resting just below his chin. No more did they have their own guilts hang above their heads, their futures the only thing on their minds. Content with one another, they forgot the troubles of the world around them. That was until the fighting came to them, Stormcloaks against Imperials, each demanding Meliandra fight for their side, the Thalmor watching from a distance. Angered, Brynjolf removed his cloak and threw it in the air, blanketing her from the attacks. 

When she came out from under his cloak, a great bear stood in her path, roaring loudly for all to hear. When the bear saw Meliandra, it charged her violently, its claws ripping open her chest. She Shouted at the bear; the bear roared at her in return, sending her to her knees. A fight ensued between her and this golden furred bear, and while both fought well, neither gained higher ground on the other, tiring one another out. Bloodied, Meliandra retreated, seeking out her lover and finding him in a cemetery. 

Horrified, she saw the tombstones marking the graves of her friends as she walked through the mist. As the tears streamed down her face, the cry of a dragon pierced the skies and soon the giant black creature blocked out the sun above her. Swearing, she tried to cast her bound swords but found she could not cast the spell.  
Desperately she looked for shelter as the beast rained fire upon her, trying in vain to Shout at the creature but found no strength in her voice. Upon seeing a cave, she ran forward, dodging the assault from above. 

The bear roared as the Breton came into its den and charged at her, its mighty claws slashing through her skin. Meliandra fought to escape the den but found herself between a seemingly continuous fiery assault beyond the opening of the cave and the aggressive battery of sharp clawed attacks from this bear before her. 

Meliandra sat up in bed, sweat beaded on her face, her hair, damp. Her breath, ragged and short from the intensity of her nightmare, pounded in her ears as her eyes adjusted to the dim light in her room. Eventually the sound of Brynjolf’s light snores replaced the pounding in her ears and Meliandra’s heart slowed to its normal pace. Shaken by the imagery of her sleep, she laid back and turned to lay against her lover, his arm draping across her and pulling her close in his sleep, she lay awake like this until sleep left Brynjolf and rose him for the day.


	20. Weddings Are Such A Joyous Affair

She sat in her rented room at The Winking Skeever, the sound of the bard downstairs singing reaching her ears behind the closed door. Taking a long pull off her bottle, she stared out the window, her mind elsewhere rather than the here and now. For a time, her thoughts were on Brynjolf and her torn emotions over him; then her mind would bring to the forefront of her memory the images of her body entwined with the Windhelm jarl and her body would become flush as it relived the heat of their passionate lovemaking. 

The sound of the door handle being engaged drew her attention for a moment as she watched her companion enter the room, a tray with bowls of stew and bread in his hand. “They gave us some butter and honey for the bread as well,” he said with a smile. “I think the innkeeper’s brother has a thing for you.” 

She smirked but said nothing as she turned to look out the window some more; she noticed a small bluebird had perched itself upon the windowsill, chirping happily. “Words of love hang in the air when a wedding is to occur,” she responded flatly. 

“You sound jealous.” 

“Jealous?” she repeated. “No, I am positive that I am not jealous of either the bride nor the groom. Marriage, my friend,” she said with a laugh in her voice, “is an institution I want no part of.” She took a drink. “At least for right now.” 

“I don’t see you as the type that would settle down and marry, raise a family.” 

She glared at him. “I don’t?” She smiled, a faraway look in her eyes. “You’re probably right; I’d probably would’ve made a horrible mother.” 

She took a long pull off her drink, stood up, and walked out of the room. 

#

Hours later when the sun had gone down, and the twin moons hung high in the night sky, the Breton made her way towards the Temple by Castle Dour, staying high above the guards patrolling the grounds below. The fact that the bride was the cousin of the emperor not just a local successful businesswoman, ensured that this event had been planned as one to go down in the history annals. Motierre, it seemed, wanted to be doubly sure of that. 

Astrid had seemed so smug as she gave Meliandra her current orders, directing her to Solitude to attend the wedding of Vittoria Vici, cousin to Titus Mede, emperor of Tamriel; she had made it clear that the bride was to be killed during the reception in front of all attending. This mission was starting to sit badly in her stomach, but she had little choice in how things were to be done. Arnbjorn’s warnings that his wife wished her dead kept echoing in her head; dare she trust the wife of the man she had been sleeping with blatantly under her nose? 

Her mind would not relinquish its hold on those thoughts, tumbling them every which way for the remaining hours until sunrise when the preparations for the upcoming nuptials began. Keeping herself hidden, she waited for the mid-morning sun when the bridal party would arrive and the long-awaited event would begin. 

The hours passed quickly and soon Skyrim’s elite began making their way to the Temple of the Divines courtyard, the mood joyous, even as polite conversation turned heated by talk of the Stormcloak rebellion. Meliandra watched with an uninterested eye as the bride appeared, a gown of ivory white with gold accents throughout clung tightly to her small frame, a fine cloak draped around her shoulders, her eyes shining with adoration as she exchanged vows with her beau. As Asgeir leaned in to kiss his wife, the Breton slowly made her way to the parapet that had been arranged for the newlyweds. Keeping to the shadows, she stalked her prey until the two made their way to the parapet, unaware of the danger just beyond their sight. She drank the potion Babette had brewed especially for this assassination and crept her way behind the bride. While the invisibility potion was potent enough to keep her unseen for a few minutes, she had only moments to implement her plan. 

The bride and groom both rested their hands upon the ledge of the balcony. Asgeir covering his wife’s hand with his, the two of them waving to the crowd below. “Good people of Solitude,” Vittoria began, “I just wanted to take the time to thank you all for being here. To thank you for sharing this wonderfully happy day with myself, and my new husband.” 

Meliandra’s hidden dagger slipped into the palm of her hand as she stepped forward and grabbed ahold of the woman’s head, the Breton suddenly becoming visible to the crowd as she pulled Vici’s head back to expose her neck and drew the blade across her throat, spraying the crowd below with blood before she dropped the dying woman’s body and leapt off the balcony onto the ground below. Her knee crashed into the stone ground, but the landing that should have stunned her, she merely brushed aside as her enchantments cushioned the impact. As she lifted her gaze, she found herself staring into the eyes of Maven Black-Briar and was immediately thankful for the full faced mask she wore, darting out of the courtyard as the city guards gave chase. 

Behind her, the sounds of the crowd grew loud in shock and horror. Distinctly she heard the anguished cry of the groom screaming, “Vittoria! No!”

Suddenly, she saw Veerzara, the Argonian assassin, as he rushed into the fray, fighting a guard who had come close to catching up to the fleeing Breton. “Arnbjorn asked me to keep an eye on you. Figured you could use a hand when the chaos erupted.” 

“The bride has been murdered!” screamed a bard. “Somebody help!” 

“I’ll be sure to thank Arn for his foresight,” Meliandra responded dryly. “First, we need to get the fuck out of here!” 

“There’s a rowboat waiting for you by the warehouse; I’ll meet you at the abandoned shack! Now go!” He turned and rushed a set of guards as she turned and found her way outside the city walls and toward the boat waiting for her.

# 

Galmar stared at the jarl, aggravated. “You’ve got one of my best men following her when I could be using him in the field!” 

“I need him to do this,” Ulfric replied calmly. 

“To follow her?” he asked incredulously. “Why? What purpose does this serve?”

Ulfric picked up the report he had received the day before and, opening it, offered it to the man. “Because I need to know where she is and what she is doing.” 

“No. You are obsessed with her and now have begun to use your own military to stalk her.” He waved off the report and sat down. 

Ignoring his comment, the jarl crossed his arms and asked, “Why does this upset you so?” 

“I do not trust her at all.” 

Ulfric looked at him, slightly confused but said in a stern voice, “Then more reason to have her followed, right?” 

Once more, Galmar shook his head. He indicated the report still in the jarl’s hand and said, “That report only gives me more reason to not trust her.” At Ulfric’s look of confusion, he continued, “She’s headed to Solitude? Or to   
Castle Dour?” 

“Are you insinuating that she is working for Tullius?” 

“Perhaps. Perhaps the Thalmor.”

Ulfric arched his eyebrow. He walked to his desk and sat in the chair behind it, pouring himself a goblet of mead. “You just concern yourself with keeping my men battle-ready, I’ll worry about the Breton and her loyalties.” 

“And what if you have another Mila in your bed?” he asked pointedly. 

The jarl stopped and glared at his general, the irritation in his eyes edging his words. “Watch your tongue.” 

“Or what?” Galmar countered. “You’ll throw me in a cell?” 

“She’s not Mila.” 

“And what if she is?”

Ulfric’s voice, even with the growing ire, was firm and stern as he warned, “You are trying my patience, old friend.” 

“Your patience?” Galmar retorted. “If you’d stop thinking with your cock about this girl, perhaps you’d stop trying my patience.” 

Ulfric stared at the general, saying plainly, “You are dismissed.” 

Standing and walking toward the door, Galmar shook his head as he said, “If you don’t open your eyes soon, you’re going to doom us all.”

Ulfric watched in anger as Galmar exited his study. He rubbed his chin, lost in thought. He knew the man was right, that the Breton’s trustworthiness was still undecided despite all that she had done. Taking a drink of his mead, he found himself asking what he would do if he were to find that she was indeed working with the Empire. While he had no emotional attachment to the woman, the thought of her being untrue to him flared his anger anew. 

He saw the Breton in his mind’s eye, how she came to him that night when she gave herself to him and began to wonder her intent. Could she be a pawn of the Thalmor much like he had been all those years ago when he himself had been a prisoner of theirs? He knew so little about her and her past, what if it was all a ploy to distract him enough for the Empire to capture him once more and put him beneath the headsman’s axe again? Draining his goblet, his thoughts ran amok with scenarios, plausible and feasible of the Breton’s deception and betrayal. The more the thoughts ran rampant, the heavier he drank. 

He was drinking the last of the bottle when a knock on his door drew him out of his thought. A courier, slightly hesitant at the jarl’s command to enter, approached him, a letter in hand. “I have an urgent message for you from the outpost in Haafingar.” 

“Get on with it, then,” he ordered. 

“Your eyes only, my Lord,” he responded, holding the sealed paper out toward him. 

Ulfric took the letter and instructed the courier to collect his pay from his steward. Breaking the wax seal, he opened the letter and began to read. Suddenly, he set his goblet down and sat forward, rereading the words before him, making sure he had read the words correctly. A smile spread across his face as he picked up his goblet and drained the rest of his drink, then stood and walked to the window looking out across his Hold and off in the direction of Solitude. 

A joyous occasion replaced by sorrow, instead of celebrating the joined lives of two people in love, the city would now mourn the life of one taken too soon, a blow to the ruling powers both here in Skyrim as well as back in Cyrodiil. Laughter erupted from the inebriated jarl’s lips as he saw the implications this assassination bore, including the message that no one is safe from the assassin’s blade. 

His eyes scanned the horizon, his thoughts once more on Meliandra, yet no longer questioning her loyalty. Rather, he found his thoughts on the things she had done and what he did know about her, from her skills as a thief to her covert skills as an assassin. He thought of what he learned from Ralof’s discovery of her being the head of the Thieves Guild and why she had gone after and killed the previous Guild Master, her sense of duty and integrity. Not for the first time nor the last, he thought about his own attraction to the Breton, this non-Nord woman who had begun to occupy most of his thoughts, his desires. 

Running his hand through his hair, he turned around and walked into his room, his memory tracing her lithe body onto his bed beneath him as his lips caressed her skin while making love to her. His craving for her stirred deep within, making him wish for her return to his city, to his bed, when he could indulge his desire for her once more. 

And then maybe he’d find out just what her purpose in killing the emperor’s cousin was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Marriage, my friend, is an institution I want no part of" is a reference to a quote by Mae West - “Marriage is a fine institution, but I'm not ready for an institution.”


	21. Spinning Webs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meliandra returns to Falkreath to get new orders; Cicero stumbles upon a sneaking Astrid.

After laying in wait for three days, waiting patiently for Meliandra and her traveling companion to leave the sanctuary of the dilapidated, abandoned shack south of Solitude, Ralof was glad to be on the move again; his food stuffs were running low and he was turning a fair shade of red from little protection from the sun. The Breton and her companion made their way away from Solitude in the dark of night, staying off the main travel ways towards the south. By mid-day, they stopped at Lake Ilinalta where the Breton began to strip out of her clothes as her companion searched the area around them, possibly seeking food for the two to consume. Watching the woman who helped him escape the dragon attack in Helgen step into the warm waters of the lake, he sat in the high grass, wondering if this was where she’d be making camp before recalling Ulfric’s comments about the Dark Brotherhood being near Falkreath. 

Smiling slightly, he watched with lewd thoughts rolling around in his head as Meliandra dipped beneath the water, her nakedness glistening as the water rippled off her finely toned skin. He recalled very vividly how limber those legs of hers were, and how they wrapped around him as he drove himself deep within her. With a slight throb, he continued to watch as he imagined pinning her beneath him on the fallen tower and screwing her long and hard until she was panting like a bitch, dripping wet as he reached his own climax, pumping his cum in her. He groaned as he tugged on himself, harder, faster, his body starting to quiver when he felt a sharp point in the middle of his back. 

“I think we have ourselves a problem here,” he heard as turned his head, seeing Meliandra’s traveling companion. 

# 

Astrid clawed at the furs beneath her, grunting in time with her lover’s thrusts, her ass smacking against him as he filled her with his length. She was close to orgasm; as was her lover. He pulled back hard on the leash fastened around her neck, yanking the collar tighter against her windpipe. He knew she liked it rough, he knew that she liked to be dominated; she knew he liked to fuck, she knew he was domineering over his sexual prey, they made for an unholy pairing, each giving into their deviancy with one another. 

His load exploded within her, triggering hers, his cum mixing with hers as it began to trickle out around his thick member, even as he pumped ore of his seed deep within her. Pulling out, he gruffly commanded for her to turn around then he shoved his cock in her mouth, ordering her to suck it clean. Keeping ahold of the leash, he felt himself growing hard again as she sucked their combined juices off him and began to rock his hips back and forth as his member grew hard in her mouth. “That’s it,” he said gruffly. “Make me hard again so I can skull-fuck that mouth of yours.” 

Obediently, she suckled upon her lover, feeling his growth in the back of her throat. She felt the leash tighten around her neck signaling his encroaching orgasm; she began to feel her consciousness slip as the oxygen fought to make its way to her lungs past the rushing semen erupting down her throat. She felt lightheaded as Festus’s voice broke through the cloud that had set upon her brain. 

“Easy now, Nazir, don’t want to kill her with that dick of yours.” 

The Redguard grunted as he stepped away from Astrid, pulling his pants up and cinching them. “My Mistress knows how to prevent that from happening.” 

Astrid, wiping cum from her lips and licking her fingers dry, stood and faced the wizard. “You better have good reason to be interrupting us when I distinctly recall leaving clear instructions that I was not to be disturbed.”   
Festus glanced at her leerily as he handed her a folded piece of paper. “Vici is dead.” 

# 

“What in Oblivion are you doing here?” The Breton was beyond angry as she confronted the Stormcloak soldier before her. At his continued silence, she raged. “Ralof, I am in no mood for this cat and mouse bullshit. Give me an answer, or so help me, I will not hesitate to pry it from your lips by force.” 

“The blond Nord stared at her in slight disbelief. “Take it easy, beautiful. I’m on assignment.” 

“Assignment? What kind and for who?” 

“The secret kind,” he snapped. “And none of your business.” 

In a single, fluid motion, Meliandra’s dagger found its way against the Nord’s throat, the look in her eyes hauntingly demanding and brimming with an anger he’d never seen before. “Do not test me, Ralof. I will not hesitate to adorn your blood upon my blade.” 

“For the love of –“ He stopped as he felt the edge press harder against his skin. “Who are you to demand that I go against my orders? Who are you to demand anything from me, whore?”

Without hesitation, she brought up her elbow across his jaw, dropping the hand that held the dagger, the cracking sound loud in his ears. He looked at her, eyes wide in shock at the strength this little Breton held. “This whore has your jarl’s trust.” 

“Enough trust that he orders me to follow you?” he spat at her. 

“Ulfric?” she repeated, her eyes blazing hotly. 

“You think that just because he’s fucking you that he trusts you?” He laughed, bitterly. “Come on, beautiful, I know you’re smarter than that. Keep your friends close, your enemies, closer.” 

With her anger bristling unfettered, she cast an ice spike that landed an arm’s length from him. “You go back to that frozen land you call home and tell Ulfric to keep his nose out of my private affairs; he’s messing with a larger threat than he could possibly imagine, and he needs to step the fuck back and let me do what I’m doing without any more interference from him.” 

“Meliandra-“ he began before the look upon her face silenced him. 

“You need to go, Ralof,” she said flatly. “You tell him to think twice before sending someone else to spy on me; I might not be so…understanding next time, regardless of who it is.” She looked over to where Stenvar stood and called out, “Bring his gear over here; our friend is going to be returning to Windhelm.” She looked back at her former lover. “I’m serious, Ralof. Ulfric begins to trust me, or I won’t be as cooperative with him.” 

Once she had loosened the bonds that had restrained his hands, he looked at her as he shook his head. “I don’t know what you think you’ve got over Ulfric, beautiful, but a set of balls you don’t. Be careful you don’t bite off more than your share; Ulfric’s not one to forgive freely.” 

She laughed, a shallow, empty laugh that sent a shiver up his spine. Her eyes narrowed ever so slightly as her words, cold as ice, pierced his ears and rang over and over the entire length of his journey home. “Don’t worry about how much of the lions share the lion takes, be wary of the cub who outfights the rest of the pride.” 

# 

Astrid sat at her desk with the Dunmer assassin, the two of them discussing the next part of Motierre’s plan. While the air was tense between the two former lovers, they both were excited at the quickly approaching grand finale that would launch the Dark Brotherhood into heights it hadn’t seen in ages. Gabriella eyed the woman warily though, knowing her dislike of Meliandra, wondering what grand plan the woman had up her sleeve. The blonde   
smiled at her, saying, “But she has to do it in the city, not on the roads.” 

“In the city? Wouldn’t it be more prudent to kill him with less chance of the guards stumbling across her?” 

Astrid stared at her. “These are the instructions Motierre gave.” 

Gabriella nodded. “Understood, Astrid.” She glanced towards the entrance, her elven ears picking up the Breton’s voice. “She has returned.” 

“Good. Tell her her new assignment; I don’t want to speak to that whore.” 

# 

Meliandra watched as Astrid exited the room, a smirk on both women’s faces. She looked at the Dunmer, a question unspoken on her lips. Gabriella motioned for her to follow as she exited and headed toward the common area. “with the Emperor’s arrival in Skyrim now a certainty, his security service, the Penitus Oculatus, will need to begin its preparations immediately. Security is being handled by a Commander Maro. Astrid and I have devised a plan to break the man, and in doing so, cripple the Emperor’s protection. You are to slay the commander’s son, Gaius Maro, and once he is dead, plant false evidence on his body implicating him in a plot to kill the Emperor.” 

Meliandra nodded. “Where do I find Maro?” 

“He’s set to leave the Penitus Oculatus outpost at Dragon Bridge, and inspect the security of each city in Skyrim. You should go there now. Observe Gaius Maro’s departure and follow him. Waylay him in one of the cities and send his soul to Sithis. Once he’s dead, plant the incriminating letter on his body, and let fate take care of the rest. Oh, and one more thing. You must not kill Gaius Maro in Dragon Bridge, or on the road. You must kill him in one of the other major cities he’ll be visiting. There, the body will be discovered quickly, as will the letter implicating Gaius Maro in the plot to assassinate the Emperor.” 

“Perhaps I should wait until he arrives in Windhelm; the protection n I have in that city will afford me the luxury of success without detection.” 

Gabriella stopped and looked at her Breton lover. “Yes…your dalliance with the Jarl of Windhelm… that has come to our attention.” 

“What about it?” 

“Meliandra,” she started before hesitating. “Stormcloak is not to be trusted. His past is …untrustworthy, patched with secrecy of the Thalmor.” 

“What are you saying?” Meliandra’s voice was hard, the same hardness reflecting in her eyes. 

“You are but a pawn to the man, a means to an end, his end. When he has finished with you, do you think he will not execute you, especially if he finds out what you are?” 

She shook her head. “He will never know about my past.” 

“Are you sure about that? He was their prisoner for years, Elenwen’s pet project. Do you honestly believe that he escaped unnoticed?” 

“Enough!” Meliandra’s eyes blazed. “And how do you know these things? Were you there, Gabriella?”

“Whether I was there or not does not matter. The fact that you bed this man who would kill you without hesitation if he knew the truth of your past is importance. No matter which way the die is cast, no good will ever come from this union.” 

# 

The night air was crisp and cool as Cicero made his way back to the Sanctuary from his jaunt into Falkreath, having needed to acquire special oils and balms to tend to the Night Mother’s corpse. He had needed to get out of the Sanctuary, there was a tension growing within its walls, one that he knew was coming to a head, but what would come from what was brewing, he wasn’t exactly sure, only that it had to do with the Breton assassin who was more than she let on and Astrid. He saw the looks that passed between the two women and he saw the werewolf avoiding the both of them; he might act the fool but a fool he was not. The love triangle was what was whispered about in the shadows of the Sanctuary, no one knew but everyone knew. 

As he neared the Sanctuary, he saw the blonde Nord leader of the Brotherhood surreptitiously slipping through the Pine Forest. His curiosity getting the better of him, the Night Mother’s Keeper followed a safe distance away.


	22. Death Becomes Her

Her thoughts were on the words Gabriella had spoken to her with echoes of Ralof’s sneering voice as she climbed through a back window of the Penitus Oculatus outpost. Casting her eyes around the room, she saw an official looking paper on the table closest to the door and swore. With a flick of her wrist, she muffled her movements and crept forward. She knew that she could not trust Ulfric, yet the more she was around the man, the more she desired him, for more than the primal stirrings he created in her. She fed off his hunger for power just as she knew he would if he knew she was Dragonborn. Once again, she asked herself what it was she was hoping to achieve by taking relationship with him to the level she had. Her swearing allegiance to him in this war was foolish, more foolish than she wanted to admit to herself and it angered her greatly. If she were discovered, if it were known that she survived Helgen, the past her mother so desperately tried to protect her from would find her. She shook her head as she thought of what they would do if they discovered she was the Dragonborn; she would rather die than be forced to bend to their will. 

Looking at the paper to confirm it was the itinerary of the Maro son, she slipped back out the window and made her way around the building to see which direction the man was going to go. As she listened to the Commander sternly address his son, she smiled as she pieced together the type of man her victim was. 

“I’m not joking, Gaius,” the older man was saying firmly, a look of annoyance on his face. “Don’t screw this up. This is your last fucking chance. You drop this one, I won’t be able to save your sorry ass. You’re completely on your own.” 

The young man gave a half-smile. “Yeah, I know. You’ve been saying this since before we left for this shit hole.” 

He looked toward the road. “Can I go now?” 

“No, not yet,” he snapped. “Do you have your itinerary?” 

Meliandra’s breath caught until she saw Gaius pat his satchel on his hip, nodding. “Right here.” 

“No divergence from it, do you hear one?” 

“Yes.” 

“And that means no whorehouses either!” His voice was stern again. “There’s still that rebel whore slaughtering Imperial soldiers; all I need is to have to tell your mother you were in a whorehouse!” 

“Anything else?” 

Commander Maro shook his head. “No, I guess not.” 

The words were barely out his mouth and Gaius stalked off without a word more to his father. Meliandra cloaked herself in a spell of invisibility and followed the man out of the small town, his destination, Windhelm. 

#

Gaius passed through the gates of Windhelm, smiling at the scantily clad woman walking past him as he entered. She looked him up and down and smioled back at him. His eyes traveled down the length of her body and lingered on her shapely thighs, as white as the snow that had accumulated on the ground around him. While he hated being here, he was finding he really appreciated the locals. He walked to the left, where he could see a marketplace beyond interior stone walls. The clanging of a blacksmith’s hammer striking metal against an anvil echoed loudly as he made his way toward the sound. The stone walls were old, and he tried to recall the history of this distant land but found that part of his education was lacking. He saw the elven merchant watching him and he winked at her. It drove his father mad his attraction to elven women, but not as much as his other desires would if his father were to find out. 

He noted the height of the walls and how deep the stones were; anyone who tried to attack this city would find themselves at a disadvantage. He made his way past the marketplace and found himself in the marketplace and found himself in the city’s cemetery, deathbells and nightshade creating an aroma that his sense of smell found strangely pleasing. He continued into the nicer part of the city, older, very stately homes lined the street prominently. He noticed that the city guard patrolled this area often, having seen at least a half dozen in the few minutes he had been strolling though the neighborhood. Then out of the corner of his eye, he saw the same scantily clad woman making her way past him and toward the Grey Quarter, catching his eye again. Smiling with a leer in his eye, he followed the elven beauty. 

# 

She stormed into Ulfric’s private study, her thick bear fur cloak billowing out behind her as she angrily strode up to his desk. “How dare you!” she growled as she slammed her fists onto the top of the desk with a strength so strong, his tankard of mead slightly shook. 

Ulfric looked at the Breton, a smile hinting upon his slightly upturned lip. “Hello, Meliandra. Welcome back.” 

“Bullshit!” she snapped. “You trust me so little that you would have me followed and jeopardize my job with the Brotherhood?” 

He picked up a tankard and the pitcher of mead and poured until it was right below the rim. “Sit. Drink. Tell me of your travels, Assassin,” he said with exaggerated concentration on the last word. 

She continued to glare at the man, a thunderstorm raging in her eyes until she relented and took the tankard from him and sat down. She refused to take her eyes off him, even as she drank deeply of the honey mead he had poured her. “Are you going to answer me?” 

He sat back in his chair, tilted his head and chuckled. “You mistakenly think that you hold some weight with me, My Temptress. But I do not forget who you are, thief. You are indebted to me. Still. Do not make me find you to be a… costly and… unnecessary asset.” 

“Are you threatening me, Ulfric?” she angrily asked. 

“No,” he answered as he glowered at her. “I am merely reminding you of your place.” 

She snarled. “As I recall, when we first met, we were both in the same place, with our names written on the headsman’s axe, both destined to open our eyes somewhere other than here. Don’t get high and mighty with me.” 

“I am your Jarl,” he stated firmly. 

She snarled. “Do you honestly think that means anything to one who calls nowhere her home?” She laughed bitterly. “Your title means shit to me.” 

His eyes flickered with a flash of anger; when he spoke, his voice was level. “And that is why I had you followed, Meliandra. Your allegiance goes as far as the coin pays you, a person’s life and death decided by the weight of one’s purse. While your lips drip with honey, your hand is in another’s pocket. The oath you swore to me means nothing to you, so what is to make me believe you will not betray me to save your own neck?” He motioned toward the bedroom beyond the door. “Just because I allow you to grace my bed, that does not give you a free pass into my circle of trust. So, thief, give me one reason that I should trust you. Assassin.” 

She finished her drink and stood up. Looking at him as she set the tankard on the desk between them, she said, “Guess that’s a gamble you’re going to have to take then.” 

# 

His thrusts grew faster in tempo, the Bosmer’s ass cheeks jiggling with each thrust, the woman moaning as the Imperial’s cock filled her. His grunts became louder with each thrust, the sound of skin slapping skin accompanying the primal grunts the Penitus Oculatus agent was making. His climax quickly approaching, Gaius Maro grabbed the Bosmer’s hair and pulled her head back roughly as he slammed himself in her, his seed exploding in her womb, his fingers digging into her hips as the orgasm vibrated through his body. 

He pushed the Bosmer away from him, his cock slipping out her, cum began to drip out of her slit and run down her leg. He grabbed a rag and began wiping himself clean as he stared at her with a smirk on his face. “So much for the superiority of the Mer,” he heckled her. “Don’t get me wrong, honey, you’re beautiful and a great fuck. I’d definitely bring you home to meet my mother, but I don’t have that much gold to spend on you, whore.” He walked up to the Bosmer laying across the bed in the brothel on the outskirts of Windhelm by the docks. “Elven superiority and you’re a whore.” He laughed as he dropped the cum rag on her. “Clean yourself off, honey, and put something on. That Argonian should be here soon with that shit.” He looked back at her. “And don’t think you’re finished yet, slut. I paid for an entire night with you.” 

# 

Meliandra made her way onto the balcony outside the room Maro was in with the barwench. She had paid the girl a lot of coin to play up to the Imperial, promising her an even greater bonus if she catered to his wanton needs herself. She had paid the Argonian even more coin to bring Maro the highest quality skooma gold could buy. She had planned her part of the job down to the minute for as she stood hidden in the darkness of the window, there was a knock at the door; the Argonian had arrived. Meliandra watched as the naked man made his way across the room to the door, opening it and standing back as the Argonian entered the room. The Argonian was a vivacious woman, dressed in a low-cut blouse and a short skirt, followed by a brute of an Orc. 

Meliandra watched as the Argonian sat at the table and began speaking to Gaius, the Orc standing behind his boss. “Got the coin?” 

“Of course I’ve got the coin; where’s my shit?” 

“Gold first. Then skooma.” 

The Imperial gave a slight pout then went over to the pile of clothes in the corner of the room and retrieved his coin purse. Giving it to the Argonian, he replied, “This should cover it.” 

The reptilian woman looked in the coin purse and shrugged. “It’ll suffice,” she hissed. She motioned for the Orc to come forward. “You’ll find this to be of the highest quality; it’ll knock your boots off.” 

The Orc set a satchel on the table and smiled at the Imperial. 

Gaius Maro’s eyes lit up as he reached over and picked up the satchel and looked in. The Argonian smiled as she said, “Go ahead and try it.” 

Meliandra watched as the Imperial got his set up out and began to fill the chamber with the skooma. She watched as the main inhaled the vapors created, waiting for the right moment to make her way into the room. Soon he began to show signs of intoxication; he made his way to the elven wench and told her to suck his cock until he was hard again because he wanted to fuck her in the ass. She watched as he thrust his dick into the elf’s mouth; she silently cast her spell of invisibility and crept forward. 

In his drug induced haze, he perceived no danger around him or to him. In his drug induced haze, all that mattered was riding the lightning bolt of the high and enjoying what it brought, and right now it was the beautiful elven wench he intended on ravishing all night. He thought nothing of the Orc suddenly beside him, his own cock in his hand as he stroked himself watching the elf give the soldier head. “Suck me off,” growled the Orc. 

The elven wench obediently turned towards the Orc and began to suck on him. The Imperial told the woman to get on her knees so he could fuck her; she obeyed and felt the man fingering her ass. 

Meliandra crept forward until she stood on the side of the Imperial. She reached over and grabbed ahold of the length of his hair and pulled his head back hard. She saw his eyes widen in fear as he saw the unknown woman in his room. 

She laughed as she said, “Should’ve stayed out of the whorehouse” and then dragged the blade of her dagger deep across the man’s throat, spraying them with his blood. Dropping the incriminating letter on the floor next to his now collapsed body, Meliandra smirked and said, “Death to the Empire.”


	23. Taking a Gamble

He noticed that many of the city guard had begun heading toward the Grey Quarter in a hurried pace and decided to follow them, knowing without knowing that where the guards were going, Meliandra wouldn’t be far away. The snow that had started earlier in the day was beginning to come down hard, heavier and faster, a frigid breeze to the air made it even colder than normal; while accustomed to these bitterly cold temperatures, he wanted nothing more than to be back at the Palace in his hearth-warmed chambers. But instead of being inside with a tankard of mead to warm his aging bones, he was seeking out the Breton woman who held him under her spell. He shoved the ensuing thoughts of how he was starting to care for the woman from his mind as he pulled his cloak closer to him. 

From the corner of his eye he saw her, the raven-haired woman so short in stature stood out like a sore thumb in the sea of fair-haired tall Nords she was trying to blend with. With a few steps, the jarl was behind her, his hand taking a hold of her side and pulling her close to him. “I do not want to know,” he stated, his voice low, “but it would be best if no one questions where you’ve been.” He glanced at her sidelong then continued, his voice firmer, louder. “Only you would choose to go for a walk when a storm is coming.” Then he pulled her closer and kissed her full on the mouth for all to see.

# 

The sun’s morning rays crept into his chamber windows sooner than he had wanted, his only desire for that day to lay in his bed with Meliandra curled up next to him. He had laid there this morning, content, watching her sleep next to him, her naked body fitting so perfectly against him. He cursed the responsibilities he had as he gazed at her, for once a peaceful look gracing her face. He had noticed the various scars that scored her body, but it was the one on her abdomen that held the question that burned in his mind. When he tried to find out, she had gotten quiet and her eyes looked somewhere other than the here and now, refusing to say anything. 

He had been forced out of bed by the knocking on his door by Jorleif bringing him bread, hard cheese, dried meats and some hard-boiled chicken eggs, his usual fare in the morning. Close behind the steward was Galmar, a look of irritation on his face. His general stormed into the room, looked at the bed, saw Meliandra, looked back at Ulfric and glared at him. “Do you know what happened last night?” he demanded of the jarl. 

“Well, I know what happened here, but I have a distinct feeling that that is not what you’re asking.” At Galmar’s flat look, he sighed, shook his head and answered, “No, I do not know what happened last night. As you can gather, I was rather preoccupied with happenings of my own. Does this have to be done right now, old friend?” 

“Yes, dammit, Ulfric!” He walked into the jarl’s study, motioning for the leader to follow. “There was a murder last night in the city.” 

Ulfric arched his eyebrow. “A murder? Where exactly?” 

“On the outskirts of the Grey Quarter, the whorehouse.” 

Ulfric shrugged, a look of indifference on his face. “So, the elves are killing themselves. Good. Less of them I must deal with. Maybe the rest of them will pack up and leave, that’d be preferable.” 

“I wish it were that easy, but this one just might bring the Empire knocking on our doors.” 

Ulfric’s voice took an edge to it as he met Galmar’s eyes. “What do you mean?” 

“I mean the fact that the poor sod was a member of the Penitus Oculatus.” 

“Shit,” was Ulfric’s only response. 

“That’s not all. This was found near the body,” he said as he handed over a folded letter. 

Ulfric took the paper from him and began to read. He kept his face neutral, but his temper flared as he read the words before him. 

“’Vunwulf,  
‘I agree to your conditions. When the Emperor arrives, I will pass along his schedule, and arrange for all doors to be unlocked, and any posted security to be conveniently absent for a small period of time.  
‘Nothing will stand between your men and his eminence. He will die by Stormcloak hands, and neither my father nor your great leader Ulfric will even know anything is amiss until it is too late.  
‘Leave the first payment, in gold, at this dead drop.  
‘I look forward to continuing our relationship.  
‘-Gaius Maro.’” 

“Who is this…Vunwulf?” 

Galmar shrugged. “No clue. Maybe that wench in your bed knows something about this?” 

Placing a look of confusion on his face, Ulfric questioned, “Meliandra? What do you mean?” 

“Few of the guards reported seeing her around about the Grey Quarter last night.” 

Ulfric shook his head. “Impossible. She’s been with me since she came back yesterday.” 

“You’re vouching for the woman?” 

He stared at his friend. “Yes, I am.” His voice turned icy as he continued, “Do you want to know everything we did as well?” 

Galmar shook his head. “No, I have a pretty good idea of what you did.” He paused. “I still say it’s interesting that this murder occurs while she’s here. I wouldn’t be surprised if she has something to do with all of this.” 

“Watch your tongue, Galmar.” 

“My tongue? You need to watch your back, Ulfric. Something ain’t right about that girl.” 

“Enough!” Ulfric roared as he glared at the general. “You are dismissed.” 

# 

Meliandra laid under the furs, listening to Galmar and Ulfric. She did not know what was written in the letter and now her curiosity was piqued, wondering what was in it that arose Galmar’s suspicions about her once more as well as strain the jarl’s voice as it had. The knot in her stomach that had begun when this job started was getting bigger; she began feeling how she did when Mercer was manipulating her, like something was lurking just beyond the corner. She pushed the anxiety down, bit it back the way she had always done since she was a young child. She listened to the two men begin to argue in whispered tones from the next room and only wished how she could get out of the palace and head back to Falkreath to find out her next move. Hearing Ulfric order Galmar out, she watched from beneath the furs as the older man left the chambers, disgruntled. 

“Is this what you mean by taking a gamble on you?” came his voice, bristling with irritation. 

She poked her head out from beneath the furs to see him standing next to the bed, the letter she had left by Maro’s body in his hand. “I don’t know what that is,” she said flatly. 

“Don’t lie to me, Meliandra!” he snapped. 

This time it was her eyes that flared as she threw the furs off her and stood up. “Yes,” she answered, “whatever that is” she indicated the letter “is what I mean when I say to take a gamble on me. Because regardless of any oath I swear to you, I cannot divulge anything about my jobs with the Guild or the Brotherhood. And you know this! Just because I grace your bed doesn’t mean that my life is an open book to you!” 

He looked down at her, her naked body a mere hands length from him. Part of him wanted to backslap her, the indignation in her voice riled his temper while part of him wanted to grab her and throw her on his bed and have his way with her. Her impetuous attitude toward him enraged him yet he found it…refreshing, someone who admittedly did not care about his title and spoke their mind. If he were to be completely honest with himself, he would have to admit that he actually found it a bit attractive. He reached over and cupped her face, his thumb caressing her jaw. “You take liberties from me that I never offer any person.” 

“Should I feel special then?” she asked, meeting his eyes with a smirk. 

He chuckled. “Without a doubt, you are special, My Temptress.” He leaned down and softly kissed her lips before saying, “Anyone else I would have executed by now.” 

She smiled at him still, a laugh riding upon her voice as she responded, “Well, thank the Nine that you find me…special.” 

He smiled at her. “You’re trying to distract me from this letter.” 

Looking at him through eyelashes, a smile hiding upon her lips, she answered with an impish tone, “Am I?” 

Pulling her close to him, he replied, “Yes, you are.” He placed a light kiss on her lips before continuing, “And its working” and then he kissed her again, this time, deeply. Nipping his lip with her teeth, she curled her arms around him, leaning back and relinquishing herself to him and his arms. He growled lustfully against her; he lifted her up and she wrapped her lithe legs around him as he carried her back to his bed. Laying her before him, he continued, “But never has distraction been so…exhilarating.” 

# 

He walked the curtain wall that surrounded his city, his mind lost in deep thought as he walked beyond the sheltered part of the wall and into the elements of the world, his gaze finding his Breton lover as she climbed upon the back of her horse, her traveling companion following suit. He watched as they brought the horses slowly to the main road before spurring the creatures into a gallop. He followed them as they rode away toward the south, his eyes staying on them until the wind driven snow obscured the pair from his view. 

After spending much of the morning in bed with the woman, it was time for her to return to Falkreath and report back to her superiors there. He had relented and promised that he would send no more spies to follow her, that he would take her at her word and trust that she would not betray him. He could not explain the feeling, but he knew that she was key to his future. 

Again, she had displayed her prowess at diplomacy and gracefully avoided answering his questions designed to look behind the veil she wore while satisfying his appetite for information about her. As much as this infuriated him, he could not deny that it was a quality he liked to see in his soldiers, and especially with those closest to him. 

He knew he was playing with fire when it came to trust and Meliandra. Her secretive nature about anything and everything concerning her, and her past unnerved him. While her being a thief, and no less the Guild Master of the Thieves Guild, had unsettled him, her being an assassin with the Dark Brotherhood drew his brows together with deep concern. She was dangerous, just as much as she said he was, and while he knew he should be wary of her, he found himself throwing caution to the wind more often than not, a fact that his general and housecarl would undoubtedly point out to him immediately had he been there with him. 

Turning around, he headed back to the palace, his thoughts turning to the two recent high-profile murders he knew about as well as a plot against the Emperor’s life. It was not a matter of if Meliandra was involved but a question of what was the end means of the whole thing? The obvious answer that stood out to him was how the death of the Emperor would play into his favor by throwing the Empire into disorder, there was the question of a successor since Mede had sired no children that people were aware of. With the Empire being thrown into a state of leaderless confusion, mistakes were sure to be boundless. 

But there was the letter that falsely incriminates him. He debated burning the letter and merely notifying the Penitus Oculatus outpost of the man’s death, a murder committed in the heat of anger at the whorehouse, or would he turn the letter over and let the dice fall where they may? Echoing in his memory were Meliandra’s words both the day previous and then again that morning and in those words, he decided to put his trust in. She had told him that he’d have to take a gamble on her, so a gamble was what he took.


	24. Love and Death

The royal suite was warm from the roaring fire from the hearth within the bedroom chambers while the rain slowly began to fall outside; she felt content and safe, the combined scents bringing memories of her childhood. She stared out the window looking across the sea far below, the waves crashing against the rocks below. She found herself comparing her life now to the life she had imagined as a child that she would have as an adult. She had been raised very simply in her noble family’s home, learning all the things ladies learn and doing the things that ladies do. She had had no desire to learn the ways of the world around her or even beyond that world she lived in.   
Her father had lived long enough to see his only daughter married to the young High King, but dead not long after that of old age, her mother not long after him. Her brothers, both were Imperial soldiers, one posted in Cyrodiil, the other missing in action in this war with Ulfric Stormcloak, the same man who killed her husband, the same man who vied for her throne as ruler of Skyrim. And she knew absolutely nothing about ruling a city much less ruling an entire land. 

“My Lady.”

The voice of her steward broke through her thoughts startling her. She turned around, pushing loose strands of her hair behind her ear as she nervously looked at the man; giving a slight laugh, she said, “Oh, Falk. I didn’t hear you come in.” 

“I’m sorry, milady. I was hoping to speak to you for a moment privately.” 

“Ah, of course, yes, by all means.” 

“The people ask how you are doing, if you are still in mourning for High King Torygg.” 

“Is there a set amount of time for one to be in mourning?” she asked somberly. 

A knowing smile touched his lips. “In reality,” he said softly, “no. Everyone mourns in their own way, in their own time. Some mourn briefly while others never stop.” He took a few steps toward the young, widowed jarl before continuing, “But, unfortunately, in the eyes of the Royal Court, they wish for a…respectable amount of time to mourn but not a lengthy one, especially under these circumstances.” 

“These circumstances? What circumstances would those be?” 

The steward looked at her squarely in the eyes. “The fact that High King Torygg died childless.” 

“But I’m the High Queen…or I should be rightfully.” 

The man sighed. “Many do not look at you as a rightful ruler…merely the woman Torygg was married to who gave him no children.” 

“So, my claim to the throne is null and void because I have no child?” 

“No, they just want to secure the line of succession. They fear an attempt on your life, milady, leaving no heir to the throne, leaving the throne open to a Stormcloak overthrow before the Moot.” 

“So, what, they want me to remarry and get pregnant?” 

He nodded. “Basically, yes.” 

“What?! Am I n ow nothing more than a cow, good only for breeding at the nobles command?” 

“Jarl Elisif…” 

“Who would I marry anyhow?” 

“There’s plenty of options amongst nobles across the land, though during this time perhaps a union between you and General Tullius would be the most beneficial to you and the city, not to mention all of Skyrim.” 

“Tullius?” she retorted. “Surely you’re joking, Falk.” 

“He might be older than you’d like, but he’s a seasoned general with a good head on his shoulders. He’s well respected by the nobles and citizens alike.” 

“I realize that but…, I just think he’d pay as much attention to me as Torygg did.” 

Falk looked at her, bemused. “I’m sorry, milady. I don’t follow you.” 

She chuckled. “Do you know why Torygg died childless?” She motioned to the bed. “This was never the marriage bed.” 

“Are you saying that the marriage was never consummated?” 

A tear escaped her eyelid as she nodded. “I have never felt the touch of a man in that way.” She looked away as she turned back toward her window. 

Falk walked over to her, laying a gentle hand upon her shoulder. “I apologize, milady. If I may be so bold…, I do not see why he would not bed a beautiful woman such as yourself….” 

She glanced up at her steward and gave a small smile. “It’s alright, Falk. I know that it had nothing to do with my beauty or my personality or anything of that nature. It was because I wasn’t equipped with what he truly desired more.” 

“He favored men?” 

She nodded. “Apparently, he was quite fond of playing the submissive role.” 

“Oh,” Falk responded. “That must have been devastating for you to discover.” 

Nodding, she replied, “It was. I had dreamed of nothing more than having his babies from the time the marriage was arranged…but no one knew that he wanted no such thing.” She coughed back a sob as she said, “I begged him, I could live with him loving a man and being with a man, if only he’d give me a babe.” 

“What was his response?” Falk asked softly. 

“That he could not possibly imagine ever putting his…his…penis…into a woman. Ever.” 

He pulled her into an embrace as he responded, “I’m sorry. I had no idea.” 

She started to cry more and turned into the steward’s embrace. He held her, all the while stroking her back, soothing her, telling her how sorry he was. Soon the tears stopped, and the jarl stepped back, wiping her eyes of signs of their existence. “I’m sorry, Falk. I didn’t mean to lose control and break down in front of you,” she said as she looked at him. 

“No, milady, it is I that should be apologizing for causing you this anguish.” He tentatively reached over and cupped her face, hesitated for a moment, then leaned in and kissed her. 

# 

“Any leads on suspects, Legate?” 

General Tullius paced the war room in Castle Dour, his voice level despite the increasing strain he had been under recently. He thought this was going to be an easy in and out mission, quell this rebellion and return to Cyrodiil in a few months time. Instead, he found himself still here in this land without much of the conveniences of home. And now with the murder of the Emperor’s cousin right her in the city that the Legion was headquartered at, right beneath his nose, was beyond an embarrassment to him. It called his entire leadership here into question. This could ruin him forever. 

“No, sir,” she answered. “What we do know, though, is that multiple people state that at least one of those involved was wearing the armor of the Dark Brotherhood.” 

“The assassin’s guild?” Tullius asked. 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Well, at least the likelihood of it being related to the war is low,” he stated sardonically. 

“Sir?” 

He shook his head. “Nothing, Legate, nothing. What’s the word around town?”

“The usual,” she answered. “Though,” she added, a hint of gossip to her voice, “the whispers around the palace and amongst the nobles is that the people are anxious for Elisif to remarry since Torygg died without neither a child nor impregnating Elisif before his death.” 

“The only reason the people want a brat from that woman is in hopes it’ll secure the throne from Stormcloak hands.” 

“Sir?” Rikke was surprised at the general’s crass attitude. 

“Oh, come on now, Rikke,” he said exasperatedly. “You can’t tell me you don’t think she’s as dumb as a box of rocks.” At her silence, he nodded, saying, “Now imagine any child she births.” He laughed bitterly. “The only thing these people can do is hope that whoever she marries has stronger blood than whatever it is that flows through her veins.” 

“Yes, there is that and I agree with you,” she responded. 

The Imperial looked at her. “From the look on your face and the sound in your voice, I believe you have someone in mind?” 

“Actually, sir, yes, I do,” she answered. Taking a deep breath, she continued, “If you were to marry Elisif, the Emperor would be more inclined to keep you here during the course of the war. If you sire a child with her, it also insures your name is remembered. There are plenty more pros to such a marriage if you give thought to it than there are to remaining single and face the chance of being sent back to Cyrodiil without bringing this rebellion to an end.” 

He looked over a her, an eyebrow raised. “You make valid points. I might give that some thought. I don’t know how I feel about having a child though, it’s not something I ever really gave a whole lot of thought to.” 

“Well, don’t think too long on it; there’s plenty of other possible suitors for a very beautiful woman.” 

Tullius gave a laugh. “Good point.” Yawning, he glanced at the door. Rikke, taking the hint, headed toward the door, excusing herself, saying it was late and she had an early morning. The man saw her out, then secured the door and locking it. Stripping his armor off, he thought about the idea of marrying the young jarl. He had always considered himself to be a confirmed bachelor, never a woman being seen on his arm. Now he found the thought of marriage very serious upon his mind, and not just marriage but siring a child, a possible heir to the throne of Skyrim. He had to admit that the idea was more and more appealing the more he gave it thought. Perhaps tomorrow he would pay a visit to the Blue Palace and call upon the widowed jarl. 

# 

On the other side of the city, a barwench sang to a man giving him a private show as he imbibed on spiced wine, enjoying the show. Every so often he’d reach over and pull the wench to him and fondle her breasts and butt cheeks, grabbing them forcefully as he leered at her, his intentions clear in his eyes. He dropped a purse heavy with coin before her, the gold spilling out onto the floor, his eyes holding hers. “It’s all yours…but only if I get my way with you, no questions asked.” 

Blue eyes flickered down upon the floor, widening as they counted the coins. Looking at the man through her eyelashes, she licked her lips and nodded her head. “Whatever you want, honey,” she purred. 

As he began to undress, watching the wench undress before him, he told the woman what he wanted to do to her, how hard he was going to do it to her. As he spoke, his cock hardened to its full length and girth; he began to tug upon it. Telling her to get on her hands and knees, he positioned himself behind her, fingering both of her holes before thrusting himself into her, eliciting a muffled gasp as she felt herself spread more than she ever had been before. 

He went on for a few minutes, keeping his accelerated pace as he felt her ass slapping against his groin; the sound of her grunting with each thrust excited him and he began to fight the need to release. He pulled out, inserted his fingers in her and began to fingerfuck her instead. Calling her crude names, he brought her to climax, her orgasm flooding the floor beneath her. 

Panting like a bitch in heat, she begged him to fuck her more. He ordered her to give him oral attention before he gave her what she wanted again. She eagerly licked upon his thick member, slowly, tantalizingly teasing him until she took the head of his dick in her mouth and began the ministrations the man wanted. Soon, he was moaning loudly a she took more and more of him in her mouth, even as it grew. He ran his hands through her hair, losing himself in the ecstasy this wench was creating. Gripping her head firmly with his hands, he began thrusting himself against her mouth. He ignored the protests she tried making as his cock began to choke her. 

A loud knocking on the door broke through the sex induced haze followed by a man bellowing, “Commander Maro! I have urgent news for you!” 

Maro continued thrusting. “Can’t” grunt “it” grunt “wait?” Grunt. 

“Sir, it’s about your son.” 

Maro grumbled as he continued thrusting before reaching orgasm. Pulling out and ignoring the gasping sounds the wench made, he walked to the door and threw it open. “What about my son?” 

The officer tried to look past the form of his naked command officer, but upon seeing the woman sitting naked on the floor, he forced himself to look at Maro without breaking eye contact. “I’m sorry, sir. He’s been found murdered in Windhelm. It appears he was in a whorehouse in the area known as the Grey Quarter; Dunmer refugees have made that their home.” 

Maro heard none of it though. Upon hearing that his son was dead, he found himself falling into a pit of anger and swearing not just for justice but for revenge.


	25. A Surprise at Home

The moon was playing hide and seek as Meliandra made her way to the Sanctuary after leaving Stenvar at the inn in Falkreath. Off in the distance something spooked the birds as a flock suddenly flew from the trees. Her heightened hearing picked up sounds of something, no, someone, rushing through the woods. She listened intently but heard nothing more. Keeping alert, she continued her way through the Pine Forest, looking forward to collapsing in her bed and sleeping. A wolf howled in the distance and a chill ran down her spine, the hair on the back of her neck standing up. She quickened her pace as she neared the Sanctuary, noticing the droplets of blood that marked the ground. 

Rushing down the stairs into the main area of the Sanctuary, she found a disastrous sight. It was obvious a fight had occurred, evidence of destruction magic was everywhere, from scorch marks on the walls to frozen flowers; Arnbjorn’s workspace showing signs of a ferocious fight, the grindstone overturned and blood splatter covering the wall by his workbench. Her attention was drawn to Veezara, half sprawled on the floor close to his usual spot. He was bleeding from his side. 

“Just try to relax,” Babette was saying. “Let the elixir do its work. You’ll feel better shortly.” 

The reptilian sighed as he finished drinking the potion the vampire had brought him. “Thank you, dear,” he said. 

“You are most kind. The jester’s cut feels as bad as it looks, I am afraid.” 

“Damn it,” Astrid swore. “This should never have happened! We knew better. We knew better, and still we let our guards down! Agh!” 

The wizard nodded. “I’ll admit, even I’m having a hard time disagreeing with you.” 

“What happened?” Meliandra asked. 

“Cicero!” She snapped. “He’s what happened! The fool went absolutely berserk! He wounded Veezara, tried to kill me, and then he fled. I knew that lunatic couldn’t be trusted.” 

Festus nodded. “It’s true, I’m afraid. Cicero was a little whirlwind, slashing this way and that. It would have been funny, if he weren’t trying to murder us all.” 

The Redguard spoke up. “Don’t forget the ranting and raving. About the Night Mother, how she was the true leader of the Dark Brotherhood, and Astrid was just a ‘pretender’.” 

Astrid sneered and glared at Meliandra. “Look, we’ve got to deal with this situation. You’ve got to deal with this situation.” 

“Me?” she retorted. “What do you want me to do?” 

“I want you to find that miserable little fool and end his life!” Astrid snapped, before adding in a softer tone, “But first…find my husband. Make sure he’s alright.” 

Meliandra’s eyes widened as she looked around. “Where’s Arnbjorn? What happened?” 

Astrid’s eyes flashed her anger. “During the attack, Arnbjorn flew into a rage. When Cicero left…Arnbjorn went after him. They disappeared not long before you got here.” 

Nodding, she thought about the howling she had heard earlier. “So, if they disappeared, how am I to find either one of them?” 

“Search Cicero’s room. Maybe there’s something in there that sheds some light on where he might have gone. Let me know the minute you find something, I’ve got to see to Veezara, and calm everybody down.” 

Some time later, Meliandra brought a set of journals to Astrid. “He’s headed to an abandoned sanctuary in Dawnstar. I have the password.” 

“The Dawnstar Sanctuary? Whatever for?” She shook her head. “Never mind, it doesn’t matter. You need to leave. Now. Every moment counts, so I want you to take my horse. His name is Shadowmere. You’ll find him outside, by the pool. Let’s just say he’s…one of us.” Her eyes became serious. “Find Arnbjorn. Make sure my husband’s all right. And then, send that jester’s twisted little soul to the Void, in many pieces as possible.” 

As Meliandra left the Sanctuary, she could not help but think of the irony that Astrid turned to her husband’s love to find him. Beholding the stallion that emerged from the pool before her, she smiled wickedly and said, “Alright, Shadowmere. Let’s go have some fun.”


End file.
